Shattered Universe: The Paths We Take
by Dearland
Summary: Vulcan has reduced the humanity to 2 million. Kirk attempts to become the hero he once was, & Uhura struggles with her attraction to Spock-who represents the enemy's interests. What will they sacrifice to survive?  Is peace possible? S/U, K/OFC, OMC
1. Prologue

**Shattered Universe: The Paths We Take**

Star Trek and all associated characters are not mine.

**A/N: What you need to know:**

1. The United Federation of Planets does not exist. There is a **United Earth (UE) aka Earth Gov.**

2. The Vulcan sundering **never** occurred, hence the Romulan Empire does not exist.

3. The Vulcans in this universe are much more antagonistic, compared to their 'real' universe counterparts.

4. The Orion Syndicate has a meaner rival.

5. Almost every character is taken from the world of Star Trek. The few OCs are relatives, descendents or ancestors of Star Trek characters, except two.

I have portrayed the characters in their Reboot incarnation. You may imagine them as their TOS counterparts.

Thanks to my beta reader spocklikescats.

* * *

**Prologue**

**January 5, 2260**

**1100 hours**

Commodore Laurence T. Stone adjusted his posterior in the newly installed captain's chair aboard the ESS Prometheus. A smaller ship than the ESS Enterprise, Prometheus served as primary transport for United Earth government dignitaries and Sol system defender. He just wished his new chair were comfortable. He supposed it required breaking in like a favourite pair of boots.

He contemplated the historic summit he headed towards and smiled. Today, the foundation of an alliance would be born and a dream realised. Jonathan Archer, captain, United Earth president and interstellar diplomat, had hoped to create a lasting interplanetary coalition. Xenophobic paranoia on Earth, increased Vulcan aggression and Andorian distrust had dashed all hopes. Stone considered Archer his idol. Therefore, the chance to witness the events that were to occur created an exhilarating happiness in him. Indeed Archer's entire senior crew, including the Vulcan sub-commander and Denobulan doctor were his childhood heroes.

Stone shifted around once more. He switched off the PADD in his hands and tucked it into the side pocket of his chair. Gazing out at the stars streaking by on the viewscreen, he asked his navigator, "ETA to Babel, Lieutenant Singer?"

The dark head to his front left lifted without turning around. "Thirteen minutes, sir."

Stone then checked on his high-profile passengers. Hoshi Sato, the lone surviving Human member of Archer's senior bridge crew, was in her assigned quarters. The linguist and retired captain had pulled many a string to be here. Also on board were UE president, Rosamund Stevens and Admiral Morgan Mueller, a protégé of Archer.

As predicted, thirteen minutes later, Prometheus dropped out of warp above Babel, a planetoid just outside of Andorian territory. On screen, Stone could see that the Vulcans, Denobulans and Andorians had already arrived. They now awaited the arrival of Enterprise with her Paraagan and Tellarite guests.

"Assume standard orbit, Mr. Singer." Rising to his feet, Stone glanced at his first officer. "You have the bridge, Mitchell."

With a sense of satisfaction, he headed for the turbolift.

**1200 hours**

"Shields twenty percent and dropping," Gary Mitchell called out as he held on to his console in an attempt to stay seated amidst the violent shudders rocking Prometheus. "Recommend immediate deployment of escape pods."

"See to it, Mitchell. Rahda, fire aft cannons, dispersal pattern, get the Vulcans off our back!"

The shit, as they say, had hit the proverbial fan and Commodore Stone was within splatter distance. His communications officer had just received word from Enterprise that they were thirty minutes from arrival. He had absently acknowledged the message while reviewing a list of the Paraagan and Tellarite dignitaries. As he finished, his security chief lifted her head in confusion.

"Commander Rahda?"

"I don't know, sir. Something seems off with our weapons system."

"Off how?"

"Impossible." Her brow creased as her fingers danced across her board. "Weapons appear to be running completely separate from main systems."

Not much later, a barrage from Prometheus' forward phaser cannons sliced into the Vulcan lead vessel. Torpedoes followed next. With their shields and weapons powered down, the Seleya never stood a chance. The other Vulcan ships retaliated, while the Andorians and Denobulans pleaded for reason. Their voices ignored, they backed away in horror.

**1226 hours**

Commodore Stone's final thought as his ship buckled and flew apart was to wonder how the dream had become a nightmare.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters are not mine.**

**A/N:** Please make sure to read all information posted in the prologue.

* * *

**September 20, 2265**

**Chapter 1**

James T. Kirk was not having a good day. A good day involved drinking himself into oblivion and avoiding Vulcan foot soldiers. Oblivion was easy. All he needed was enough alcohol and it enfolded him in blessed nothingness. Vulcan troops were another matter. They were everywhere, seeming to derive contentment from tormenting Deneva's Human inhabitants.

He sat at the counter of his favourite drinking spot, Maxwell's Bar, enduring an afternoon search by the Vulcans. Apparently, the Human resistance sabotaged a supply convoy hours before, and now someone was going to pay. He glanced briefly around the room, noting the spotlessness of his surroundings and the symmetrical layout of each table. It always amazed him that on this battered world, he could find a drinking den, so thoroughly clean. In his opinion, it was abnormal, but who was he to tell Nyota Uhura that he thought she had a problem. He was the resident drunk; if anyone had issues, he did.

Kirk bent his head, lowered his lashes and focused on the giant mirror that made up the wall behind the counter. He brought his glass of whisky to his lips, took a sip and eyed the four Vulcans reflected in the mirror. Two stood on each side of the inner swing doors, while the others moved around the room. Given the methodical nature of their search, they appeared to be looking for someone fitting a certain description. Sometimes, they made random searches that only they understood. It made living here even more interesting.

His gaze first sought out their weaponry, then travelled up to their faces. The standard Vulcan uniform was charcoal-grey, with emerald-green collars that somehow highlighted their alien features. He still found it unbelievable, how impassive they often were. In those frantic days after the attack on Mars, Captain Christopher Pike had died and Commander Kirk found himself promoted to captain of the Enterprise. He took great pleasure in using the ship to kill as many of those bastards as possible. Not an easy task, considering the enemy had superior ships and weapons. During all that time, he often wondered if their faces remained blank. In his nightmares, they certainly were not expressionless. His dream Vulcans wore menacing grins upon grotesque faces.

The two Vulcans patiently making their way around the room stopped at a table toward the back right corner. Seated there were three acquaintances of Kirk: Terrence Mayweather, John Stiles and Elliot Bashir. Stiles and Bashir were permanent residents of Deneva. Mayweather, however, was one of the few Humans allowed a special permit to travel to and from Deneva. The Vulcans, throughout this bit of madness, had remembered that if they wished to continue tormenting half the remaining Human population, they needed to allow limited trade.

One of the Vulcans hauled Mayweather to his feet and began to question him. They wanted to know his whereabouts at the time of the explosion. Kirk watched as the man coolly answered each question with a lie. He was not surprised. Mayweather, the former security chief of Enterprise, performed admirably under pressure. Kirk remembered that he had remained at post, firing ship's guns as Enterprise fell to pieces under enemy bombardment. It might have been a magnificent sight were they not in the middle of a Human slaughter.

Increased tension flooded the room and prickled the back of Kirk's neck, as all eyes focused on the unfolding scene. It looked as if the soldiers meant to drag Mayweather away for further questioning. However, it never happened. Nyota Uhura chose that moment to intervene. Moving seductively, she went to stand beside her former crewmate. A sultry smile curved her lips and turned her beautiful face into something truly gorgeous. He almost fell off his barstool.

From his reflected view, he watched her lean against Mayweather all the while convincing the Vulcans that he had spent the night in her bed. Then she slipped an arm around the man and Kirk saw his blank face crack for a fleeting second. He recovered before the Vulcans noticed and returned her embrace. Accepting her answers, they moved to another table and questioned its lone occupant. Kirk noted the man's resemblance to Mayweather. Unlike Mayweather, he was little match for the Vulcans. When they made to drag him out of the bar, he tried to run. Kirk felt sorry for him. He and everyone knew that if you went off to an interrogation room you were either never seen again or came back traumatised.

Tired of their quarry's struggle, the two soldiers let him go. They then pulled out their disruptors, aimed and fired. In a matter of seconds, the Human's nervous system shorted out and his internal organs failed. He died before his body hit Uhura's pristine floor with a soft sad thump, thus ending this afternoon's brutal lesson of Vulcan dispassion.

Kirk might have said a prayer for the man, but he had given up on religion and God a long time ago. Instead, he eyed his glass and tried to think of pleasant things. However, the dead body a few feet from him intruded on his thoughts. He sighed and swallowed the remaining half of his whisky. He ignored the bite from the alcohol and placed his glass on the polished wooden bar. He was still sober. This was indeed a bad day.

xxxxxxxx

Mara Barnett-Kirk needed help. She had exhausted all avenues and came to a cheerless conclusion. There was only one person with the connection necessary to grant her the audience she desperately wanted. Unfortunately, said person was her bitter estranged husband.

She adjusted the navigational controls of Delilah, her worn but faithful scout ship. Content with her changes, she engaged autopilot, locking in Deneva as her destination. Mara felt a twinge of apprehension as she considered what Jim's reaction was going to be when he saw her. The last time they faced each other in person, he had looked at her with such loathing. A painful thing to bear, although she understood fault rested with both of them. She regretted the encounter. What was she to do? Her husband became a distant stranger, reshaped by a war experience neither could have imagined.

They had met each other at a Starfleet gathering held by her father, Admiral Richard Barnett. She was a second-year cadet and he an ambitious lieutenant. She took one look at the cocky young man and hated him with a passion born of jealousy. Her father showered this stranger with the type of affection she'd craved since the death of her mother six years prior.

He seemed so smug, golden tanned and all aglow under the hall lighting. As if sensing her scrutiny, his laser bright blue eyes caught hers. The bone-melting smile he sent her way made her world hiccup for a moment. Then she remembered, she was supposed to hate him. Her opinion did not improve when her beaming father formally introduced them.

Two years later, they would meet again. It was the summer of her graduation; his ship, the Farragut, was docked for repairs, and she was awaiting assignment as a pilot. They spent time swapping stories about what it was like to navigate through high family expectations and bad breakups. A young scientist named Carol Marcus had just dumped him. She was still recovering from the end of her yearlong relationship with Starfleet doctor, Geoffrey M'Benga.

Their affair began weeks later over a bottle of wine. The first time they consummated the relationship, she knew she loved him and would continue to do so for the rest of her life. This realisation came to her in the quiet hours of early morning, as she stroked his warm skin. One year later, they were married and he was assigned to the Enterprise as first officer. Almost two years later, disaster struck, war erupted and Mara's marriage disintegrated.

Mara stretched her legs and chided herself for indulging in wasted melancholy. She got up from the nav-pilot's chair, took a long look at the stars and exited the tiny bridge. A few steps and she entered a dimly lit mess hall. A narrow metal table designed to seat six stood at the centre. To the back was a food synthesizer and cooking area. The doorway on the right led to the engine room.

She brewed a cup of tea, an insisted-upon luxury, and headed for the wall com. She touched the unit and asked, "Computer, time to Mentara system?"

"Eighteen hours, twenty-two minutes," replied the emotionless feminine voice.

She had enough time to get some sleep. "Is cloak functioning at peak efficiency?"

A short pause, then, "Cloak is operating at ninety-eight percent capacity."

The cloak was a hard-won prize from the Suliban. A large number of resources and an agreement not to duplicate the technology had resulted in the UE receiving three devices. She drank her tea, placed the cup in the washer and headed to bed.

xxxxxxx

Terrence Mayweather hated the cold. It was 0200 in the morning and freezing. Normally, Deneva's temperature ran from mild frost to punishing heat. Just his luck that he should be outdoors on a rare frigid night, awaiting the arrival of Mara.

Mayweather had grown up in the tropics of Earth's South Pacific, on a wide estate befitting the great-grandson of a Starfleet pioneer. Sometimes he wondered how Mara could spend so much time in the Pirara System. All three of the occupied planets were cold, although there was a moon orbiting a gas giant that was almost tropical. It served as a popular vacation destination. The only other habitable moon, Abiri, was arid, icy and orbited a demon class planet.

He pulled his heavy leather coat closer to his body and wished she would arrive before he froze his nuts off. He looked at his star lighted surroundings and grimaced at the charred surfaces he could make out. Luckily, most of the fighting had taken place in orbit; otherwise, a few scarred patches would have been the least resulting damage. Deneva was one of the first Human colonies outside the Sol system. Within two generations, it grew from a frontier settlement into a thriving powerhouse that demanded a seat on the UE Council. The crystals mined in the hills gave them the economic power to make such claims and it worked.

After the attacks in the Sol System, Proxima and Vega Colony, the surviving Earth government fled to Deneva. Immediately, the haggard group set up offices. This was supposed to be a place for regrouping and strategising. In the end there would be more fleeing.

Mayweather shifted his feet and willed his body to feel warmth. Cursing under his breath, he pulled back his right coat sleeve and checked the black device strapped to his wrist. Paranoia or not, he needed to check that the jammer worked. Otherwise, he would have a great deal to explain to the Vulcans. Like why he was standing in an opening toward the edge of a forest at this ungodly hour. After yesterday's incident at Maxwell's, he had to increase his vigilance. He vividly recalled his silent rage while helping Jim and Bashir bury the man who had died in his stead.

The jammer, illegal on Deneva, distorted his presence enough to fool Vulcan sensors. One of the few advantages they had over the enemy. He wished the resistance had more of the devices at their disposal. However, if one always got one's wishes, he would be married and on his way towards producing children. A beautiful dream, just as dead as his family.

He shifted his feet once more and focused on the twinkling stars. Where was Mara? If she was caught this close to Deneva, the Vulcans would use her to get back at the UE's highest-ranking Admiral, her father. He was beginning to worry for her well-being and by extension, Kirk's. He never knew what had driven a wedge between those two; he did know what ended things. He also knew how much the captain still cared for her.

A momentary twitch in the sky and then the stars and clouds righted themselves. A low audible whine soon followed, growing closer and closer. Dust swirled around Mayweather, whipping his coat about his body. A soft thud echoed from the compact dirt, then nothing, as all sound faded and the dust settled. He remained standing at his spot; his eyes searching to make sure the little disturbance went unnoticed. Within minutes, the hatch opened from nothingness and out stepped Mara Barnett-Kirk, her face partially hidden by the hood of her coat.

"You're late."

She gazed up at him and smiled. "No pleasantries, Terrence?"

"When we're safely indoors, we will exchange them." He turned around and began walking. He expected her to follow.

He heard her sigh then said, "I spotted four Vulcan heavy cruisers and decided to play it safe."

He glanced across at her and considered that she did have a valid reason for arriving late. "Understood."

There were no more attempts at conversation.

xxxxxx

The leader of Deneva's Human resistance cell was in a foul mood. The enemy killed a man in her establishment, and the best military tactician within her group was two steps from drunk. Nyota Uhura took a deep breath and reminded herself of why she had recruited James Kirk upon his arrival on Deneva.

Uhura picked up a glass that was the last from a straight line of drinking glasses on the table before her. With more vigour than necessary, she began to polish away traces of watermarks. Kirk's behaviour with the bottle made her forget at times that he was a hero from the early days of the war. Something she'd witnessed firsthand during the two years she served as Enterprise's communications officer. At first, the alcohol had been a good ploy, which she encouraged. Upon his arrival on Deneva, the Vulcans were suspicious. Playing the drunk suited the purposes of the resistance. Sadly, he now invested too much into his drinking. She felt pangs of guilt on the days she allowed her conscience to intrude on practicality. She was after all his main supplier.

When the glass was sufficiently gleaming, Uhura went about scanning for electronic bugs. It mattered not that she had checked the room minutes before James arrived. The large area above the bar was a replica of an early twentieth century gambling room. Before the war, her sister Mellie and her husband Duncan had owned the place. Duncan Maxwell's family were among the first to settle on Deneva, and they had built the business into a popular place of entertainment. Once upon a time, the room hosted high-stakes poker matches. Now, it was outfitted with illegal equipment attached to walls and shelves that shifted out of sight when trouble approached.

Satisfied with the bug sweep, she went back to her glasses. She stacked them away, and then moved to weapons. In a manner similar to the glasses, she had a line of phasers, phaser rifles, disruptor rifles and old-style phase and plasma pistols. The phase and disruptor weapons needed cleaning, while the two plasma pistols required recharging before they were battle-ready. Her small motley crew might not make much of a dent with the Vulcans, but they did cause damage. Most important, however, was the information they gathered and smuggled out on trade vessels like Mayweather's Helen. Uhura had no illusions about taking on the enemy and winning.

Sorrow shadowed her face as she began to recharge the plasma guns. One had smudges and speckles of dried blood, evidence of their last shootout days before the convoy incident. Damp cloth in hand, she rubbed the stains away while remembering Tania Barrows, the woman whose blood she now cleaned. Tania had been a friend and former Starfleet officer. Uhura wished her peace wherever she now resided.

Life as resistance leader came with a terrible price. It was no life to wish for, although she doubted anyone would. The Uhuras and Dembos family were mostly academics and business people. Her deviation into Starfleet had caused a stir. With Earth destroyed, Uhura and the rest of Humanity had travelled to Deneva. When the Vulcans arrived, her sister and brother-in-law died. She volunteered to remain behind, her brain reprogrammed to enhance her natural gift of acquiring and retaining information. Buried under all of that government manipulation was an end-of-life command. Uhura was to use it if she were ever in the position to jeopardise her government. She observed first-hand what triggering of the termination command did to a person. Her co-leader, a fiercely nationalistic Denevan government official named Joseph Mendez, took his life to save the crew seven months after the Vulcan takeover. He became a mindless shell. She left him to the explosion that destroyed their first headquarters.

Uhura placed the plasma weapon back on the table and picked up a phaser, as she thought about the wide-eyed young woman that entered Starfleet eleven years ago. Back then, had anyone predicted Humanity's current predicament, she would have laughed and called them absurd. A signal beeped from the wall monitors alerting her and James to the presence of someone at the service entrance. She looked over at her former captain and saw him discreetly touch the phaser hidden beneath his navy blue sweater. Maybe he was not as drunk as she believed. Good, she needed him functional when Terrence and Mara arrived. Soon her boring night was going to get interesting.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Star Trek and all associated characters are not mine.

**Warning: **Torture is a subject that will be addressed in future chapters. You are warned.

**Hierarchy on Deneva: **

1. Regional Administrator (Local representative of the Vulcan High Command) – Oversee all administrative matters and makes military decisions with the consult of the local fleet commander.

2. Mentara's Fleet Commander – Manages the day-to-day operation of troops and ships. Any major decision by this person needs the approval of the administrator. The fleet commander can remove a regional administrator, if he/she believes the individual to be compromised.

3. An assortment of other Vulcans and Humans who run Deneva's various offices.

* * *

**Chapter 2 **

Kirk never liked surprises. Not even as a child. His one and only surprise party ended in disaster for him, his brother and parents. Uhura had _requested_ that he be here tonight for a meeting with a visitor. He wondered what was so important that Starfleet was willing to send someone to Deneva. The planet was like the infamous Hotel California in the twentieth-century song. Once you checked in, there was no checking out. He rubbed his eyes and wondered why the universe had blessed him with overly assertive women like Uhura his whole life.

The beep alerted him to Mayweather's arrival. He noticed the look that stole over Uhura's face. Part anticipation, part worry, it sent a sick feeling to his stomach. That look meant his night was bound to become unpleasant.

A side door across from the elevator opened and Mayweather stepped into the room with someone covered in a heavy hooded coat. The partially hidden face and the shape under the coat told him their guest was female. He saw a look pass between Mayweather and Uhura and the sinking feeling returned. The stranger suddenly seemed shockingly familiar. His eyes narrowed as she dropped her bag against the wall in a careless manner he knew too well. Then as if to drive home the answer, she pushed back the hood of her coat and Kirk was face to face with his wife for the first time in a year and a half.

"What is she doing here, Uhura?" he demanded, rising to his feet. All the emotions toward Mara he had tried to bury rushed to the surface, threatening his self-control. He could not stay in this room with her. He might fall apart. He was a man and damn it, men did not fucking break down with hysterics.

"You know she was sent to us."

"That's well and good," he said, grabbing his jacket. "I don't have to be here."

Mayweather cautiously stepped closer to him. "Jim, Captain, be reasonable. Would she be here if there was another choice?"

"He's right, James," Uhura added, her voice carefully neutral.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself. He was a trained Starfleet officer. He would act like one. He turned back to face her, his wife, his heart, his betrayer. Mara looked no different from the last time he saw her in person, naked and panting under another man. She was not a stunning woman like Uhura. Nevertheless, fierce amber eyes and full lips made a face that might have been ordinary truly arresting. The flawless light brown skin now visible still had the effect of making him want to touch her. "Why are you here, Mara?"

Mara looked at her husband and felt an acute sense of despair. She knew what he had become before that fateful day when he caught her with José Dominguez, had seen reports as to his current state. Until this moment, she had failed to realise that her actions, combined with the war, had warped him into the person standing before her. The fighting, the deaths, the hopelessness, all started the process. She just happened to finish it.

Was there another option? She was hurting from her own experiences and could not count on him. At the time, he had been too wrapped up in the personal hell he'd suffered while a prisoner of the Vulcans. She tried opening up to him, but he shut her out, choosing to immerse himself in the bloodshed. The first real reaction she received from him was the day he saw her seeking solace with another man. That was when he truly disappeared from her. For over a year, she watched as he participated in multiple suicide missions. Then nine months ago, he disappeared, showing up on Deneva after three months.

She decided to get right to the point. "I must get to the Wai-Shali."

Surprised coloured his features; he had not expected this of her. "You wasted time and energy coming here because you want to find them? I thought the Federation was brighter than that, Mara."

"Jim, please, you know you are the only one who can get me an audience with Kali."

He looked away from her, gazing at the two other people in the room. "We need a moment of privacy."

Crossing her arms, Uhura frowned. "This concerns all of us."

"Why she's here concerns all of us, not my marriage."

Mara watched as Uhura's eyes hardened before Mayweather touched her arm. This Uhura was most definitely not the Lieutenant who'd once served in space with Jim.

"Come on Uhura; let's give them some time alone."

The woman looked up at Mayweather, and then nodded. As they walked through the door, Mara could not help thinking that Uhura most definitely was not happy.

Alone, they warily regarded each other. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the thinness of his body and the almost dead expression in his bloodshot gaze. "If I said you look well, I'd be lying."

As her unexpected words reached him, a ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. "Unlike you, Mara."

"Can I count on your assistance?"

"That would be a big assumption."

"This has nothing to do with our personal problems. Starfleet expects me to get an audience with the Wai-Shali, whichever way."

She watched him anxiously when he did not answer. He just stood there scrutinizing her with an unnerving gaze. Eventually, she looked away.

"What would you do if I said no?" he asked.

"I would make the attempt without you." She ventured a few steps closer to him and he stiffened. Neither noticed when he had relaxed.

"They might hear you out or hurt you, depending on their mood." He folded his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Or they might kill you on sight. Kali can be unforgiving under the best of circumstances."

Mara sighed and opened the buttons of her coat. Kali was the real reason she had journeyed here. Jim was the only person who could get the leader of the Wai-Shali Circle to hear her proposal. "Remember, I have faced Kali before. I'll just have to deal with her."

"You always were determined to have your way in all things, weren't you?"

His words carried a nasty bite that grated across her frazzled nerves. This whole situation bordered on ridiculous. "What do you want from me, Jim? I've apologised a number of times. What else do you want?"

He stared at her with angry eyes, and then stepped forward. It was the first time since Mara's arrival that he made any effort to shorten the distance between them. "What do I want?" he whispered softly, almost to himself. His hands reached out and rested at the sides of her face.

Whether she was trying to push him away or pull him closer, she was not sure. All she knew was that her hands came to rest on his chest and her fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater. She became hyper-aware of him, her breathing erratic as she realised what he meant to do. His mouth descended on hers and she ceased to think.

This was wrong. Kirk knew it, and yet he could not stop himself from touching Mara. Besides, he was still her husband. Was it not his right to touch and kiss his wife? This felt better than running or falling apart like some weakling. As a bit of his anger towards her dissipated, he realised he should not have left the way he did. He wondered if she was still with Dominguez, the weasel who had no qualms about sleeping with his friend's wife.

Mara's lips parted beneath his and he forged ahead. Lost in the heady rush of tasting her, Kirk failed to register that they now clung to each other. All that mattered was the bruising intensity with which they now kissed each other. She let out a small moan that did things to his already shaky state of mind. One unsteady hand travelled to her neck and dipped inside her collar. She immediately stilled then jerked away.

_Shit_. He might have just made the situation worse. With amazing speed, she was standing across from him at the weapons-decorated poker table. He watched the table and then Mara. Her breath was ragged and there was a look of sheer disbelief on her face.

"You had no right."

He smirked inwardly, but tried to keep his features bland. "Last time I checked, you were still my wife."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Doesn't mean anything, I can still file for a divorce."

"Until you do, we're still married." He let his eyes follow the lines of her covered body then settle once more on her face. He wanted to see her every response to what he was about to propose. It was risky and reeked of blackmail. If it worked, he would repay every known deity by never touching another drop of alcohol. "I'll help you Mara, but we'll do it on my terms."

Mara glared at Jim. His hooded blue eyes still bore pain, yet she could see a spark of defiant fire building within their depths. Even the way he stood had changed. Nothing blatant, she doubted others would notice it. He looked more confident. Pieces of the old cocky Jim were emerging in a remarkably short time. "What are your terms?"

Without hesitation, he replied evenly, "We give this marriage another shot."

On her way to the Mentara System, she had meditated on the many possible scenarios she might encounter with Jim. None of them involved his wanting her back. She expected anger, hostility and the possibility that she might have to go it alone on this mission. It seemed her husband could still be unpredictable. "There isn't anything left to resurrect."

"Keep telling yourself that little lie, if it brings you comfort." He took a seat in the chair he had vacated earlier. He looked relaxed.

He knew she was uncomfortable and Mara had an uneasy thought that at some point she had lost control of the meeting. "It is the truth."

"Come on, Mara," he chided her. "You and I both know there's still something. Otherwise you would not have responded to my kiss the way you just did."

Exasperated, she felt frustration rising right behind the anger bubbling under her skin. "That was a reflex reaction."

Mara's words, delivered with her trademark icy tone, sounded absurd even to her own ears. Her cheeks heated in mortification, just as Jim burst into peals of laughter. At least, it was good to see him in such merriment, even at her expense. The loud sound brought Uhura and Mayweather back into the room. They looked at her and then at Jim with shocked puzzlement.

Uhura left Mayweather's side and went to stand beside him. "Your spirits have improved, James."

"My wife has the ability to improve my mood when she chooses."

"I can also do the opposite."

Jim's smile folded away and he was serious once more. "I don't think you'll chance it, Mara."

"So, have you two reached an agreement?" Uhura questioned, still glancing between Mara and Jim.

"No."

"Yes, all she has to do is agree to my terms."

Mara felt three pairs of eyes swing to her. It was Mayweather, however who asked, "Are you going to agree to them?"

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Did they know what was being asked of her? Mara was not sure she could survive another bad experience at marriage. She could always tell him no at the end of the mission. She opened her eyes. She had studied diplomacy and one of the earliest lessons she learnt was compromise. "I agree to your terms."

"Wonderful." Uhura sounded pleased. She turned to Mayweather. "Is her ship secured enough that we can delay departure until tomorrow night?"

"Shouldn't be a problem, the area is normally ignored by foot patrol and residents alike."

"Delilas's cloak will remain engaged until I return to her." Mara added, "I would prefer to leave right away."

"We can't leave now. Sohlan was removed as fleet commander for this system. His replacement is arriving right about now. There's going to be heavy ground and air traffic well into daylight."

"Do we know who's replacing him?" Mara was not sure if Sohlan's departure was a good or bad thing for Deneva. They knew his quirks and were used to his predictable nature.

"I found out yesterday that he's related to Administrator Spock," Uhura replied.

Mayweather stifled a yawn and looked pensive. "I think we should all be worried."

Curiosity piqued, Mara had to know. "Why do you think he'd be worse, Terrence?"

"Rumour has it, Sub-Commander T'Pring is also related to Spock and you know how cruel she can be."

Put that way, Mara hoped Mayweather was wrong.

xxxxxxxxx

Huddled within his coat, he walked the nearly deserted streets, skirting curfew laws. Guilt should have been foremost on his mind, as he headed to their meeting place. However, his need was too great to ignore. It gnawed at his body like a ghastly beast and jumbled his mind to the point near insanity.

He remembered a time when he was not this pathetic. Once, he had been a famous athlete. At the end of high school, he was given the choice of either joining Starfleet or going to college on a professional athlete track. He chose athletics and became famous. He endorsed products, appeared on magazine covers, and married the woman of his dreams. They had a daughter and lived a charmed life for exactly four years, ten months and twelve days before the attack on Mars. He knew Earth would be next. He sensed it in his blood. Cheryl, his wife had wanted to stay planet-side. Earth was her home and she had faith in Starfleet and the safety grid around the planet. A direct hit killed her and his baby girl as he arranged for them to leave on one of the last emergency transports heading off world.

Shell-shocked and alone among a sea of strangers aboard a cramped freighter ship, he journeyed to Deneva; his sleep plagued with images of his daughter's broken corpse. He tried to forget and when the Vulcans showed up at Deneva, he chose to stay behind. He was one of the first to join the resistance as part of the Federation's final act before fleeing the system.

For a time his new activities helped ease the heartache. Inevitably, his colleagues started dying, and he lost it again. His only solace was corillan acid, a rare Cardassian narcotic. When diluted, the harshly addictive drug acted as a mood stabiliser and took away the nightmares. It gave him peace, albeit only temporarily. Continued occupation dried up local sources, and one night he found himself in an alley behind a bombed-out building, going through the early throes of withdrawal. That was when she found him and made an offer. He would swap information for peace.

He reached his destination, knocked twice on the door and entered the building. In the shrouded room, his dealer came forward, her dazzling face the epitome of calm. If he cared enough or had the courage, he would bash it in. "Do you have it?"

"Your information first," she demanded, her voice devoid of emotion.

"Let me see it." He watched as she went into the pocket of her uniform coat, pulling out a clear pouch with two vials. She held it up in the shaft of light that slashed across the room.

"You have seen the acid, now proceed."

"There's a woman here on Deneva who should not be. She arrived tonight and may leave before daylight today or tomorrow night. Her beam down location is north of the city at the edge of the woods."

"Excellent, Human," she said, throwing the pouch at him. "Is there anything else you would like to tell me?"

He examined the brown liquid in the vials with a sense of disgust. "I know nothing more."

"We meet next time as per our arrangement."

With one last look at her pale features, he backed out of the room. He did not trust his back to her. As he stepped out into the dark early morning, he wondered once more at the depths he had sunk.

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**A/N: **Spock will make his appearance in the next chapter.

Your comments are much appreciated. Please let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters are not mine. **

**Thanks to my beta spocklikescats.**

**Please make sure to read the author notes from the prologue and chapter 2.**

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**Chapter 3**

"I don't like it."

Uhura looked up from her inventory list, to the man with long silver-streaked black hair, standing before her. She was not surprised that Elliot Bashir was unhappy with their plans for tonight. He had not voiced his opinion at the meeting that just ended, but she was skilled at reading body language. "What is it you dislike?"

"We don't know this new guy. Our actions tonight could lead to serious reprisals."

He was correct. Sohlan's replacement might turn out to be the most vicious of the Vulcan leadership in this system. Uhura had raised the same concerns with Mayweather and Kirk before the group meeting. In the end, she decided to go ahead with their plan. "We need a diversion large enough to clear the final leg of our path."

Bashir's single black eye glanced away from her, focusing on the couple sitting quietly at the other end of the room. "Is it worth it for the rest of us?"

Had he been anyone else, Uhura would have reprimanded him immediately. Kirk, and what Mara intended to do once she left Deneva, were worth the destruction of their intended target. Prior to the war, Bashir owned a hydroponic farm on Mars. He grew many exotic plants that required careful, patient care. A trait suited to his personality. He had lost that farm and his wife when the dome above it collapsed. He lost his left eye, pushing Uhura out of harm's way a year ago. "Those two have to get off Deneva tonight. The place is crawling with patrols. We don't know how long it's going to last," she said. "It could be the new norm."

"So we've gotta do this thing. My other question is, why involve Lu?"

Lu, she suspected, was the main reason for Bashir voicing his apprehension. Chen Lu was an orphan who lived with her. The girl was also eager to have more of an active role in resistance matters. Uhura touched his arm, and spoke the words she had spent the past few hours repeating silently, "She needs real world experience. We can't keep her sheltered forever."

He sighed and slipped into his jacket. "Sixteen is no age to be doing the things we do."

"I'm sure at that age you thought you knew everything. I certainly considered myself an adult." She smiled faintly at an errant memory. "I hated that the adults around me couldn't see it."

"We grew up in safer times, Uhura. She doesn't have that luxury."

"I know, Elliot. That's why we all keep an eye on her."

Bashir checked his sidearm and left to meet the team he would be leading tonight. Uhura returned to her list and hoped that his concerns were unfounded.

Air that was considerably warmer than last night's whispered among ancient foliage, and the small edgy group, trekking north. A temperature more suited to this season and area on Deneva. Mara inhaled, attempting to soak up as much of the mild warmth as she could. The Paraagan Matriarchy had offered the UE their frigid moon, Abiri, as a temporary home. The only structure on Abiri before Humanity moved in was a research post. Even for the Paraagans, used to cold temperatures, Abiri bordered close on inhospitable.

They departed Maxwell's via ground car an hour after Uhura's people left on assignment. Their hike along the meandering forest footpath had begun twenty minutes ago. Clearly visible under the light of a half moon, Jim walked ahead of her with light measured steps. He had barely said two words to her since they started out. She was unsure of how to handle him, and whether she wanted another chance at their marriage. Her problem was that she still loved him, but sometimes, love and desire were not enough. At her back was Adam Rutten, a computer genius who swore to her that he belonged in the mid-twentieth century. When Mara initially met him, his blasé attitude made her question his commitment. All flightiness had disappeared from him the minute they exited the car. Beside her was Uhura, whose silent feet moved fluidly over the compact dirt.

Mara did not feel safe out in the open. She felt exposed and the device on her wrist did little to alleviate her disquiet. Given the number of troops that patrolled the main streets, she was surprised their drive had been uninterrupted. She scrutinised the path they walked and realised it looked familiar, not because she had walked it last night, but because they were walking in wide circles. She was about to ask Uhura for an explanation, when she heard what they had been waiting for. It was an explosion that echoed faintly in the night. A welcomed sound that was a few minutes later than scheduled.

Jim raised a hand and silently signalled to hold positions. They stopped walking, holding to the darkened edges of the woods. Long anxious minutes passed, and then Mara noticed Uhura cock her head to the left and frown. Less than a minute later, the rest of them heard the light crunch of boots on twigs. Holding still, they pressed further into the dark and watched six soldiers with disruptor rifles hurried past them. Eventually, the steps faded and a hovercraft lifted off and flew over their location.

"Let's wait a few more minutes," Jim said, as his eyes searched the perimeter.

Inching closer to the wide tree trunk behind her, Mara looked at him. "Is that wise?"

"Trouble might still be in the area," Rutten replied, removing a small tricorder from a belt clip. His scans of their immediate area came back negative.

After a few more tension-filled minutes ticked by, Jim signalled for them to continue. Another half hour of walking yielded fewer trees and more charred land. They were getting closer to where the cloaked ship was located.

Mara and group stopped once more when they were within sight of the clearing. Eyes and tricorder scanned the area in an exercise of caution.

"Guys, I—" Rutten's words died on his lips, as he fell face first at Mara's feet. The Vulcans were here.

Kirk felt a wave of panic sweep through his veins, as three soldiers emerged from behind them, weapons glinting maliciously in the watery moonlight. All he could think about was his last chance at putting his life back together. He looked at Rutten and then the Vulcans. That young man deserved a better death than the shot in his back.

"Do not move, Humans."

Within a split second, Kirk dropped to the ground and rolled, pulling Mara with him in a harsh thump. Their only protection was a giant tree stump. He and Mara drew their phasers, as twin shots sailed over their heads.

He caught Mara's angry gaze. She always ran either hot or cold. The burning fire in her eyes told him she was hot with rage. "On three," he whispered and she nodded.

At two, Kirk heard phaser fire and quick footsteps heading away from them. He and Mara raised mere centimetres above the stump, sighted one of the Vulcans and fired together. Under the barrage of two weapons on kill setting, the soldier fell dead to his side. One of his comrades crouched next to a tree and returned fire, scorching the ground next to them. Kirk and Mara ducked once more behind their fragile protection.

"He has the advantage from his position."

Kirk glanced at Mara and tightened the grip on his phaser. "Since when has that meant anything?"

Once more, they returned fire at the enemy. Shots went back and forth, splintering the tree stump. Chips of bark flew about their bodies, forcing them further down to the ground.

At this point, the Vulcan made a mistake. He stepped into the open with no protection. Kirk aimed and shot him in the chest. Mara went for the face. He glanced at her in surprise. She only shrugged and climbed to her feet. He also stood and looked around. There was no sign of Uhura and the third soldier. No sooner had they collected themselves, than Kirk heard a rustle. He raised his phaser and froze.

The remaining Vulcan, a tall muscular male had his weapon trained on Uhura, as she walked in front of him. He jabbed her in the back with his disruptor and barked, "Not another step." He then looked at Kirk and Mara. "Drop your weapons and kick them away."

Both Kirk and Mara hesitated, which caused Uhura's captor to kick below her right knee, forcing her to kneel. With slow careful movements, they did as ordered. Kirk caught Uhura's gaze. They were cold and empty. He had seen them like that before; the night Tania Barrows died. He raised his eyes to the soldier. "What now? You gonna torture us? I hate to break it to you, but I've already been down this road."

Kirk did not know whether it was a trick of the light or if the man really was smirking at him. It troubled him, as much as seeing their constant impassivity.

"Only one of you is required." The enemy raised his disruptor and... fired away from them in a wide arch. A loud groan issued from his lips, as he too fell to his knees.

Kirk was confused for a brief moment, and then he smiled. Uhura had reached the dagger at her side and used it. In two quick moves, she had reached back and sliced at her captor's right ankle, cutting through boot and flesh. Then twisted sideways and stabbed upward. He felt a light touch of nausea, when she yanked her bloody blade from the Vulcan's genitals. She scrambled away and climbed to her feet while her former captor tumbled completely to the ground.

"We can't leave him like this, he could survive and identify us," Mara said, reaching for the second phaser hidden beneath her jacket.

Kirk beat her to it and delivered the killing shot.

The three of them walked over to where Adam Rutten's body had fallen. Kirk watched as Uhura stooped over Rutten and closed his sightless dark-blue eyes. Her fingers lingered on his face, brushing back curly blond hair. Rutten had designed many of the gadgets used by the resistance. He was also a brilliant individual who projected a cavalier attitude to hide how much he cared.

He stood next to Uhura in a moment of silence then reminded her, "We have to remove the body."

Uhura looked up at him and rose swiftly. "You and Mara should go now. I'll deal with the Adam."

"We can spare a few minutes, Uhura."

"No. Go while it's safe."

Mara nodded at Uhura and walked away. Kirk watched as she signalled her ship to activate main access. He looked once more at Nyota Uhura, the slightly psychotic neat freak. She had been his communications officer, friend and leader. She performed in each capacity with dignity, loyalty and biting wit. "I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you too, Captain Kirk," she said, the ship behind them coming to life.

He took one last look at the place he had called home for the past six months. In a strange way, he was going to miss it and the people. He turned around and walked to the visible opening of Mara's ship and his future. Within minutes, he was off Deneva and among the stars.

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The Humans never noticed the tall figure hidden within the deep night shadows. He saw their arrival, waited for the right moment and gave the order to attack. He wondered what she of the sable eyes would do, if he deliberately made his presence known. His lips twitched ever so slightly, as the answer came unbidden to him. She would aim her weapon at him and snap off a shot. Tonight was not the first time he had watched her in action. It was also not the first time he thought her to be a magnificent female.

He leaned against a flaking tree trunk and thought of his teenage years. At seventeen, with a blade and the clothes on his back, he had entered the Vulcan's Forge to partake in the Rite of Tal'oth. Similar to the kahs-wan ten-day ritual, Tal'oth tested every skill and assumption. For four months, the punishing Forge stripped him bare, the heart of his soul opening to his introspective eyes. Two nights before the end of the ritual, weak and doubting himself, he braced his back against a stray boulder, and willed his scattered mind into meditation. Cohesion came to him, as he sunk through the many levels of awareness, going deeper than he had ever gone. Deeper still and he soon found his mind expanding. His katra seeming to blend with his surroundings, and he knew perfect harmony. It spread out, touching, melding with the entire Forge, reaching up to the stars above. When he thought to push forward, to see how much of the universe he could hold, he found himself falling back to the desert sands. Upon landing, his mind and katra shrunk back into his body in a heady rush. Moving sluggishly, he had sat up from his prone position and found that he was not alone. A naked Human woman with shoulder length curly hair, brown skin and a secretive smile walked towards him. As she drew closer, he noticed her eyes were sable-brown and that they shifted from gentle warmth to ferocious cold. She was the most pleasingly perfect female had ever seen.

Transfixed, he had watched her come closer. In one hand, she held a globe of planet Earth and in the other, Vulcan. He remembered holding his breath, wanting her to come closer, yet fearing what would happen if she did. Fearing that, if she came within a centimetre of where he sat rooted, he would give in to his every instinct and touch his lips to her smooth skin. When it had looked as if he would have his wish, the spell collapsed like a shattered mirror. He had never felt more alone than he did at that moment.

He had sat, staring ahead, marvelling at the new purpose coursing through his body. To have a vision was a rare thing for a Vulcan going through the Tal'oth. After his return home, he discussed his experience with his parents who mentioned it to T'Pau, their clan leader. Fascinated, she travelled to meet with him. It was the only time he would ever witness a flash of emotion on her sharp features.

"Your vision, Spock, may have been the universe's way of showing you your true self, neither Vulcan nor Human." T'Pau's calculating black eyes had bored into his and then, she continued, "Or perhaps there is something more."

She had left it at that and he went on with his life. He entered the Vulcan Science Academy later that year, intent on becoming a scientist. Life and purpose would conspire to change his path. Now, he stood, watching Nyota Uhura hastily cover her fallen comrade with pieces of rocks. Finished with her task, she got up and dusted her knees then looked right at his location. He froze in place, his hand slipping to the disruptor at his side. He was ready in case she shot at him. He relaxed a fraction when he realised she had not seen him. He felt an infinitesimal flash of regret that her gaze missed him. Not rational, he knew, but the sable-eyed woman with the long braid did not inspire logic in him. Instead, she made him want to lose his hard-won control.

She gazed back at the death mound, adjusted two phasers to maximum yield and fired. He saw the rocks heat and melt. After some time, they disintegrated along with the body underneath. She stashed her weapons away, spun around, and took off in the opposite direction. He remained where he stood until she disappeared.

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Your comments are much appreciated. Let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 4

**Star Trek and all associated characters are not mine. Excuse the strange formatting, FF is misbehaving. **

Thanks to my beta and to those of you who have supported this fic. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 4**

His grandmother once told him that beauty and hope could flourish in the darkest of places. Standing at his bedroom window, high above Maxwell's, Terrence Mayweather remembered and cherished her words. From his vantage point, he could see the stubborn growth of a red-flowered weed and the bouncing stride of a young child. For him, the boy, holding tightly to his mother's hand, and that weed, still thriving, personified her words.

He heard a door open and close across the hall. Lu was up, which meant it was time to head for the kitchen. He sat down on his rumpled bed and proceeded to put on his socks and boots. Laces tied he walked out of the airy room and into a wide winding hallway that sported polished wood floors.

In the kitchen, Uhura sat at a circular table, sipping dark, fragrant coffee that was real and not synthesised. Lu was at the stove scrambling eggs of the powdered variety, her short black hair falling onto the sides of her face. Mayweather's stomach chose that moment to demand attention. Luckily, it was a quiet sound.

"Good morning, ladies."

Uhura gave him a tiny smile and murmured an unintelligible reply. It took a full cup of coffee to get her going most mornings. Something he would have never guessed. From afar, she seemed the type to wake every morning perfectly presentable. On occasion, she substituted her coffee for tea. In Mayweather's opinion coffee was best.

Lu waved at him and he saw the bandages covering two slender fingers. Her injuries were minor and easily sealed with a dermal regenerator or dermaseal. However, the resistance had a tradition of leaving a member's first non-threatening injuries to natural healing. Considered a badge of honour, it was preferable to have a lasting scar.

Lu pointed to the pan in front of her and enquired of him, "Do you want some?"

"Sure."

Coffee filled additional mugs and places were set as the three of them sat down to eat in the peaceful early morning. In between forkfuls of breakfast, Lu glanced up at Mayweather. "Can you bring me something pretty when you return?"

Surprised by her request, he placed his utensils atop his plate and looked at her. In all the time they have been acquainted, she never once asked him for anything. "What if my idea of pretty doesn't measure up?"

Lu's dark hazel eyes pinned him, as she replied, "I trust you."

The absolute confidence in her short statement scared him. The last person to put that much faith in him, died. To cover his feelings, he smiled and hoped it looked real. "Supposing, I bring you a present and you hate it? What then?"

She gave a short sigh that was universal to any and every teenager. "I'm not asking for a boyfriend, just something simple and pretty."

Loud coughing interrupted their conversation. It seemed the idea of Lu having a boyfriend had caused Uhura's coffee to go down the wrong way.

"You alright over there, Uhura?" he asked, trying his best to hide the real humour threatening to curve his lips.

"I'm fine," she said and took a sip from the glass of water Lu placed in front of her.

Lu saw the reaction of her companions and grimaced. True, she was sixteen and had never had a boyfriend; nevertheless that was no excuse for their response to her remark. In light of the current crisis, the age of majority had been lowered to seventeen– an age, she was rapidly approaching. "You two are not funny."

Nyota's face smoothed out, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Sorry Lu, it's just that sometimes we forget you're no longer the scrawny thing we first met."

"I was not scrawny!"

"Yes you were." Nyota looked at Terrence with a hint of mischief and added, "Remember how bedraggled she looked the first time you saw her hiding out up here?"

"She was so much less mouthy back then."

"I'm right here, people."

As indignant as Lu felt, she really did not mind their teasing. Ever since Adam died, Terrence and Nyota had been alternating between brooding and anger. She picked up the napkin lying beside her plate, balled it up and hurled it at Terrence. He ducked and started laughing. Nyota joined in and Lu decided that, even if it were at her expense she would laugh too. It was what family did, and she had adopted these two as her family. Nyota was her tough older sister and Terrence was her confessor. She knew he never guessed, but the night she met Terrence, she had been contemplating suicide. In the dark hallway, he had sat next to her and told her of his family. His words changed her outlook and made her feel worthwhile. If he could chose to live then so too could she.

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As was their custom on mornings before Mayweather left Deneva for space, he and Uhura sat down for an evaluation of operations. Lu had left for her job and the sun had chased away the last traces of night. Their first task was a review of the stats on illicit supplies. Some had been stolen from the Vulcans, others smuggled in or made in backrooms. After that, they reviewed recent missions. With a careful eye, Mayweather went over each detailed report Uhura had compiled. He then examined the list of people who had died. In the three months since their last sit-down, there had been an increase in casualties. On a hunch, he pulled up a listing from the past nine months. The spike in assignments gone wrong and dead operatives began seven and a half months ago.

One such operative was a young scientist, Irina Galliulin; surgically altered and psychologically trained to look and behave as a Vulcan because she resembled one of their junior scientists. She had worked aboard a vessel that patrolled the star systems closest to Mentara. Closing her file, Mayweather decided not to think about the fate of the real Vulcan woman she had replaced.

With a sinking feeling, he gave the files another glance over, and then leaned back in his chair to study Uhura. She had secrets and he was unknowingly privy to the biggest one. He kept it to himself because it clarified certain puzzling details. He then considered that many of the other resistance members had secrets of their own. Hell, he had things he too preferred to keep hidden. During initial recruitment efforts, they had intentionally ignored things like criminal backgrounds and mental instability.

Mayweather's right hand slipped below the desk and rested beside his hip. "We have a problem."

Looking up from her computer screen, Uhura asked, "What problem?"

"One of us is a traitor."

She appeared mildly taken aback but not terribly surprised. "I have had a nagging suspicion for a few weeks, which is why the files are now locked with a revolving encryption code."

Now he understood the deliberate misinformation she sometimes gave at meetings. Either way he still had to ask his question, "Is it you?"

A quiet calm descended in the room and settled around her. She fixed her eyes on him and saw what those she had killed must have witnessed before they died. She had hidden the warmth that was Uhura and replaced it with something coldly dangerous. Yet this transformation, a remoulding of her face, did not intimidate him. No matter how scary Uhura looked, he had seen worse.

"How dare you ask me that, mister? You of all people know what I sacrificed the day I agreed to do this job."

"I dare as I please, Uhura, especially after I discovered where you go."

A faint dusky rose flashed across her cheeks and disappeared, but her eyes remained the same. "You followed me?"

"You don't deny it?"

"I will say this to you once, Terrence," she said without the earlier bite in her words. "I am not a traitor, nor do I regret what I have done."

Mayweather exhaled and let his hand drop away from the phaser at his hip. "You play a dangerous game, Nyota."

She started at his use of her first name. In all the years they had known each other, he could count on his fingers the number of times he had called her by it.

"I know what I am doing."

"Let's hope so, for your sake and the rest of us. Because I will kill you, if you give me reason to doubt you."

She smiled. It was not amusing, more a baring of teeth. "Likewise, Terrence."

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After Mayweather left to ensure his cargo was properly boxed and loaded. Uhura went about preparing the bar for today's business. Their conversation remained fresh in her mind, as she resolved to be more discreet. However, her most pertinent concern was that of their mole. She and Mayweather had spent some time going over each name, correlating them with mishaps that had occurred. They knew there was a wide margin for error, but it was a start. No one was above suspicion, although she had four individuals of interest.

Arranging a table, she peeked over the inner swing doors of the bar and to the steel reinforced glass doors just beyond. Since the arrival of the new fleet commander, there was, a permanent increase in the number of soldiers patrolling the streets. She wondered if it was all his doing, or did Administrator Spock have a hand in the change of policy.

She had seen the fleet commander's image in a file and in the flesh two days ago. It was surprising how much he resembled the administrator. What was even more startling was his choice of hairstyles. She had seen some variety on female Vulcans, never the males. It shocked her to see that his hair was long enough to sweep his shoulders. So caught up was she in her observation, she had failed to notice that he too studied her with an unnerving gaze. She got the distinct impression he was sizing her up for something. She had quickly hurried out of the building and into the foggy early morning.

Once her small staff arrived and Maxwell's opened for business, Uhura headed for the local spaceport where small ships landed instead of staying in orbit. She wanted to see Mayweather before he left. She approached the entrance of the port and stated her intentions. The Human guard hardly looked up before ushering her off to the body scanner. When he was satisfied that she did not pose a threat, he allowed her to enter the inner walkway that led to the civilian ships. She found the Helen, just as two Vulcan guards stepped away from the ship.

Mayweather noticed her and came towards the entrance. In his dark pants and physique-hugging beige t-shirt, he looked amazingly good. His skin shone in colour reminiscent of dark bronze and his face displayed angles that made him gorgeously photogenic. Unfortunately, Uhura felt absolutely nothing for him. She appreciated his good looks, intelligence and honesty, but there was no heat. At times, she wished there was something in her capable of reacting to him. She was sure that given enough effort, she would have been able to capture his affections. Loneliness did that to a person.

"Hi," she said, coming to a stop at the top of the short retractable stairs. "You're just about ready for takeoff?"

He leaned against the doorway and folded his arms. "Yeah, everything is loaded and triple-checked."

She smiled at that little inside joke. The Vulcans could check however many times they wanted, there were always means to hide what needed to stay hidden. "Are you going to mention our discussion in your report to the admiral?"

"I have to let him know about the leak."

"I was referring to our other discussion."

"Ah, well, you don't need to worry. I will keep quiet unless you give me reason to do otherwise."

Uhura climbed the final step until she was mere inches from Mayweather. She looked him in the eye and said, "Admiral Barnett knows; as matter of fact he encouraged it."

His features flittered from disbelief to anger, then sadness. She could live with the first two, but not the sadness. It meant he felt sorry for her. She hated it.

"And you agreed?"

"It's the oldest method at our disposal."

Mayweather gazed at her for a full minute, and then he unwound his arms and took her hand his. He gently squeezed her fingers. "Keep yourself safe, Uhura."

"You too." She stepped back and he let go of her hand. She walked down the stairs and all the way to the edge of the walkway before she glanced back at the Helen. The door was closed and Mayweather was nowhere in sight. With a sigh, she continued walking until she left the port.

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I know some of you are anxious to have Spock and Uhura interact. You will get your wish in chapter 6. Your thoughts are important, so leave a comment and let me know what you think.


	6. Chapter 5

**Star Trek and all associated characters are not mine.**

**A/N**: Thanks to my beta reader, spocklovescats.

The rating of this fic will change next chapter.

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**Chapter 5**

Mara grounded her teeth in frustration. Only five days since her departure from Deneva and she felt tense enough to snap in half. It was all Jim's fault. The first three days were amicable, with little conversation. She considered it a good sign that the trip would be uncomplicated. She should have known better.

Delilah had a captain's cabin and one other designed to comfortably fit five individuals. Current arrangements had them utilising both cabins. However, starting yesterday, Jim decided that water showers were just the thing to satisfy his cleansing needs. Her cabin had the only such functioning shower. She allowed him access into her cabin and woke the next morning to the sight of him drying his body with her pink fluffy towel. On their own, her eyes had slid across skin that was unblemished, except for a few small scars and a tattoo on his lower back. As tattoos went, it was simple, a black sword within a red circular band. She noted that even with weight loss, Jim's body still held muscle definition in all the appropriate places.

Later that morning, he commenced a campaign intended to torment her. It was in his every gesture and 'accidental' touch. Mara felt the brush of his fingers against hers, the touch of his leg at her thigh, and his whole body everywhere. With each touch, her frustration increased and if she were honest, so did her arousal. Worse yet, he looked completely innocent on those occasions she managed to catch his eye. She was on to him. She would avoid him, unless it was necessary for them to interact.

The problem was Jim seemed to be everywhere, exacerbated by the fact that the ship was tiny. Mara currently sat on the bridge, going over coordinates; he had plotted into the navigational system. She was aware that the Wai-Shali moved around. Their society was structured to facilitate a nomadic culture. What bothered her was their final destination, an area dominated by enormous binary stars a few years from going nova. The gas and magnetic eddies they threw off could prove disastrous.

Keeping her eyes on sensors, she asked, "Are you sure our course heading is correct? Reports indicated they're currently located in sector P587A. That's three systems off our plotted course."

"Your intel's wrong, and even if there are Wai-Shali ships in P587A, I can assure you, Kali is not there."

"We're heading into a region of space that's dicey to navigate."

"This is why it was chosen."

They lapsed back into silence until Jim started to drum his fingers against his console in a rhythm of some sort. He held a yellowing paperback book in his other hand, although she doubted he was actually reading its contents. The tapping continued, grating against her nerves, until she could tolerate no more. "Would you stop that!"

He stilled, fingers poised above the smooth surface. "Stop what?"

"The finger tapping," she replied, pointing to his hand.

Jim placed his book on the console and swivelled his chair in her direction. A frown of amused concern projected from his face. "What's eating you? You've been worked up since last night."

"I'm fine, now that you've stopped that annoying sound."

Mara watched with apprehensive suspicion as he left his chair and moved to stand behind hers. His hands rested on her shoulders with slight pressure and she stiffened.

"You know, all this pent-up tension is not good. You could make yourself sick."

"Please remove your hands," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Instead of doing as she ordered, his fingers began to knead at the muscles on her upper back. They pushed and worked at each encountered knot. Against her better judgement, she found herself relaxing under his talented touch. She had forgotten how good he was at this sort of thing. Her body seemed to have remembered, considering the way she found herself leaning into his hands.

"I am serious, Mara, we can't have you sick when you sit down with Kali."

She felt herself stiffen again at the mere mention of Kali. That woman was one of the least stable individuals Mara had ever met. Period. She had hoped never to see her again. Jim's fingers pushed harder into her skin, and she winced as a deep-rooted knot unravelled.

"You're wound tighter than I thought. Why is that? And please don't tell me my finger drumming was the cause."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you can be a pain the ass?"

"Yes, many times." A firm thumb pushed hard, as he continued to unravel her body and mind. "Now answer the question?"

She groaned under her breath, as another muscle untangled and relaxed in pleasure. "Why do you think?"

His fingers brushed aside her hair and moved to her neck. The flesh on flesh contact was electric. "I'm afraid I don't know."

She tugged away from his hands and swung around. Staring up at him, she replied, "You are making me tense. Are you happy?"

"What are you afraid of?" he demanded, his demeanour serious, eyes probing. "Is it that you want me? That you regret what happened between us, and what you did?"

Mara sprang from her chair and stood a few paces from Jim. She curled her fingers inward, suppressing the need to slap him. Somehow, it always came back to her infidelity, which was unfair when they were both at fault. "Why is it always about what I did? What about the indifference you flung my way, when I needed you most? Are we ever going to talk about that?"

"I did the best I could at the time, Mara." He raked fingers through his hair in frustration. "My head was not in the right place."

"Not in the right place!" Mara felt her anger built, as bitter memories from the last year they lived together swarmed her mind. "I lost our child, Jim."

"Don't you think I know that? Not a day goes by that I don't wonder at the 'might have been'."

"I bent over backwards to please you, Jim! Catered to your mood swings and put up with all your shit because you needed someone who would, and then you treated me like I barely existed." Mara felt a hysterical laugh bubble up and spill from her lips. She wanted him to hurt like that day. "José showed me more compassion than you ever did."

Anger flushed his face and he closed the small distance between them. "Don't fucking mention his name to me, Mara."

She was not about to back down. They should have had this fight long ago. "Why not?" She spat. "It's the truth and you know it. Solace with each touch is another thing he offered me."

Mara watched as anger and regret warred for dominance on Jim's face. His hands, which had released her tension earlier, reached forward and grabbed her arms in a painful grip. She stood still, not moving a single muscle. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, as he appeared to be collecting himself. She decided to push ahead. "If you want to give us a second chance, we need to talk about what happened to you."

Jim's eyes snapped opened, his hands dropping away as if she were poisonous. "You've read the reports. You know what happened."

"I read a report that started out vividly, then slip into vagueness. And, you know what else? I read the exact same narration from you, Terrence, Hikaru, and Angela. I stopped reading at that point because I'm sure the others would have said the same. What are the odds that four people would give identical reports on something as traumatic as your capture?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kirk edged away from Mara and sat, slumped in the chair she had vacated. She demanded the very thing he had tried to bury for over two years. Vulcan imprisonment was certainly not the first harrowing event in his relatively short life. However, it had messed with his mind the most. His childhood experiences were more about physical torment; the psychological came second. With the Vulcans, physical and psychological went together.

Mara moved to stand in the space between his legs. Her soft fingers brushed back his hair and tipped his face upward. "I want to know. You need to let it out, if only to me. It's my price for us moving forward."

He gazed up into her eyes, which shone eerily in the bridge lighting. "You drive a hard bargain, Lieutenant Commander."

"Sometimes hard bargains are necessary to procure a wanted outcome."

Kirk heaved a sigh that was both physical and emotional. He wanted Mara back. He now knew he was willing to go to almost any distance to have her. She wanted to know what happened. Fine– he would tell her. The secret had begun to sicken him. "They stripped us of our humanity." Just getting those words out took great effort. It made him wish for a stiff drink.

"What?" she whispered in confusion.

"You heard me. They stripped us of our humanity." Saying it, the second time was easier, so he continued. "When the Enterprise started breaking up under bombardment, I gave the order to abandon ship. Some of us stayed back to ensure the escape pods and shuttles had a chance to get away. Six of us made it onto the final shuttle, only to find ourselves caught by a tractor beam. Once the Vulcans tossed us into holding, we found that eight other crewmembers were already there. I won't bore you with the details of our physical torture, you've read that. What we survivors have never mentioned, is how they got into our heads. They used the right words to see into our darkest fears, and then they exploited them. Can you imagine it, a touch telepath trained in the art of interrogation?"

They were quiet for a bit before Mara softly asked, "Is that why you were so adamant that we increase training in mental control?"

"Yes. Any little bit to give us a chance," he replied, remembering the months of fighting to get the programme going.

"The bastards got to Henderson first. They found every demon that haunted him, and then got him to the point that he easily killed Riley. I don't think he was cognizant of what he did. Doc Boyce didn't survive his second trip to the interrogation chair; we all watched his heart give out. The truly awful part is that everything seemed designed to get at me. They wanted specific questions answered, and they knew damn well, the chief medical officer was not going to have the answers. They knew my fear Mara. They knew I would do anything to save my crew. So, they forced me to watch everything, and then they would ask their questions.

"Days wore on and our numbers dwindled. The questions kept coming, incessant and carefully modulated, a counterpoint to the brutal violence. The worst was hearing Mayweather's screams as Lexi died. It was at that point, I wanted to give them what they sought, even if I had to make it up. The only thing that held me back was the knowledge that I would be dead either way. Hours after Lexi's death, an attack on the ship took out their main power grid. It also knocked out the security fields that held us captive."

Kirk stopped his narrative. The rest of his story was where the real tragedy lay. More than the physical and mental torture, it was what happened after the power failed that haunted him the most. His lips curled in something that was certainly not laughter. "Do you know what happens to people when they are pushed to the brink of their civility? What happens when it gets stripped away?"

Mara's face, set in placid lines, was impassive enough to rival any Vulcan. Nevertheless, as she responded, "They become less than human," her voice shook with a hundred different emotions.

Fuck, he desperately wanted that drink right about now. Instead of running for the booze, he focused on Mara's face and continued. "Eight of us left the holding cells in the middle of the disarray that was the ship losing a fight. With little hindrance, we got their cargo hold. While we ran to the closet shuttle, a lone sub-lieutenant showed up and shot at Roberts. The senselessness of his death and weeks of suffering spurred us into action. As one, we forgot our fear, our desperation. We surrendered to blinding hatred. It was freeing to be in a place where that pure destructive emotion existed all alone.

"She must have sensed the shift in us, because she started backing away prior to our rushing her. In a single moment, higher reasoning gave way, replaced by instinctual animalistic madness. We used hands and feet to tear her apart. When sanity returned, she was a dead bloody mess and Scotty's midsection was injured."

Tears slid down Mara's cheeks and neck, disappearing into her shirt. "Now I understand. It wasn't just the horror; it was also the shame."

He reached up and brushed away the newest trail to leave her eyes. "Shame and a sense of dishonour found the seven of us meeting while we were still in Sickbay. Right then we decided what would be revealed and what was to remain concealed, if not for us, then for the ones who died. We never wanted others to know what a Vulcan interrogator could do to a Human trained by the best to withstand the worst."

"I wish I'd know this, Jim. It could have saved us a lot of misery."

"I don't think any of us have talked about that cargo bay since the day we agreed to gloss over what happened. It was too terrible a thing to admit."

Mara moved to the side of the chair and with a few adjustments, she sat on his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and he pulled her closer, seeking the solace of her solid weight. It was not until she rested her head on his shoulder that he realised he felt different. At first, it puzzled him, and then it came to him in a flash. He felt lighter, less burdened.

"Now we can move forward."

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This was a difficult chapter to write. It went through many versions before making its way to the public.

Please comment, how else am I to know if you're enjoying the ride?


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Startrek and all associated characters are not mine.**

**A/N:**

Real life happened and this chapter found itself gathering dust on my laptop.

Please heed the warnings posted in earlier chapters.

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**Chapter 6**

Uhura walked across an elegantly decorated hallway, her feet sinking into plush wine-coloured carpeting. Muted light scattered looming shadows across the floor and pale walls. She belted her red silk robe and hastened her steps. She passed three rooms before reaching the one she wanted. It was a heavy oak door with a very modern lock. With deft fingers, she entered an override code; it slid open and she stepped into the office that lay beyond.

Unlike the hallway, the walls within the office were darker and the floors devoid of carpeting. Shelves with old books lined one wall, while paintings expressed in slashes of vibrant colour adorned another. At the centre of the room stood a large desk with a computer terminal, connected to a secured network. To the left lay tidy stacks of PADDs and paper.

Ignoring the terminal, Uhura removed her jade earrings and placed them on the desk. Next, she picked up a PADD, turned it on, and set the screen to display all files. She did the same for two more PADDs. When the first files opened up, she tapped each earring, revealing tiny data interfaces. She attached each earring to a PADD and set them to record all files. She took the third PADD in hand and inhaled. As she expelled the air, Uhura allowed her body to relax. She forced her mind to empty itself of all anxiety and then reached into the deep hungry well that was a part of her mind. She pictured it as a deep sucking vortex, a perversion of her natural gift. She spent most of her time pretending it did not exist. To dwell on it was to remember the weeks she had spent strapped to a bio-bed.

Mind and body settled; she fastened her eyes to the now-scrolling screen of the third PADD. Text flowed upward and her mind grasped and absorbed each bit of information. She did not analyse any of it; that she would do later. She continued in this manner until she was finished with all of the PADDs. She positioned them back into place, and then slipped on her earrings.

Back in the hallway, Uhura touched the bracelet at her right wrist, a nervous gesture, and glanced around. As she expected, the area was clear and quiet. With a sigh of relief, she headed in the direction of the kitchen. Once there she poured herself a glass of water and then made her way to the master bedroom.

Illuminated from above with soft lighting, the room boasted the same lush opulence as the halls and living room. Uhura walked to a window chair and sat. She placed her glass of water on a nearby table, then finally looked at the hard-to-ignore-king size bed. There, asleep on his stomach, among the rumpled bedding, was Administrator Spock. He was in a drug-enhanced sleep and should be out for another hour or so.

Uhura let her eyes roam over the barely covered naked body. Under the light, his hair shone black as the darkest night and his pale skin almost glowed with an inner vibrancy that was pure Spock. "Beautiful" was the word that came to her the first time she had seen him. That impression remained with her, although since that night she had added a great many other adjectives to describe her half-Vulcan lover.

She sipped her water and her eyes lingered on Spock's pronounced spine and then trailed down to his firm half-covered backside. On her worst days, she chastised herself over the fact that she desired him. He should repulse her as he would any good little Human, but she wasn't little and sometimes she doubted her goodness. A good person couldn't do some of the things she had done. No, Uhura thought, a good person might just run in the other direction if they knew of all her deeds.

She stood, loosened the belt of her robe and slipped out of it. She placed it neatly on the chair and walked to the bed. With careful movements, she climbed back under the covers and arranged her nude body so that she lay a mere inch from him. As her body absorbed the heat of his, she thought about their dysfunctional relationship.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They had met for the first time at a gathering. A farce intended to smooth the transition from Earth Gov rule to Vulcan control. She had scored an invitation by virtue of Maxwell's reputation as more than a simple bar prior to the occupation. While she would have preferred to be anywhere but in that ballroom mingling with traitorous Humans and haughty Vulcans, she had attended with Joseph Mendez as her date. It had been so easy to read the Vulcans' body language and their whispered words.

Needing air, Uhura had fled from the room and onto the outside balcony. Stars and ships sparkled above in the night sky. A cool night breeze blew her shawl to the floor and before she could get to it, a dark figure bent forward and retrieved the diaphanous material. Until that moment, she'd believed herself to be alone.

When the obliging mystery male straightened to his full height, she saw his face and found herself immobile. Her whole universe had shrunk to him and the insane feeling he evoked. For the first time in her life, she understood what the poets sang about, when they talked of instant carnal lust. Her heart rate increased and polite words left her, as she stared into a face seen only in a holo. It had not prepared her for the force of presence the real man exuded. Most interesting was that he looked at her as if she were a ghost. His hushed words, "Are you real?" only confirmed her suspicion. And then he blinked and every trace of emotion vanished.

Choosing to ignore his odd question, Uhura pasted a smile on her lips. They exchanged a few words as he handed her the shawl. She wrapped it around her shoulders, said good night and left him on the balcony. In her haste, his verbal response was unclear; however, she remembered feeling his gaze heavy on her until she stepped out of the ballroom.

A week to the day after they had met, the first invitation to dinner arrived. Spock wanted her to meet with him at his personal residence. She ignored it. The second arrived in a similar manner. That too, she ignored. She then reported his interest to the very man who'd recruited her for this assignment, Admiral Richard Barnett. The Admiral sent immediate word with one of the freighter captains that he recommended she accept the next invitation. She knew enough to read between the lines of the short response. Barnett was not giving her a choice. He was ordering her to agree to meet with Spock. Uhura stared at the walls of her office for long minutes as outrage, revulsion and a strange anticipation warred for dominance within her mind and body. Had she not given enough to her government?

Dinner was not what Uhura had expected. Well, to be honest, she had not known what to expect, as she had donned the ugliest dress she could find in her closet. If he thought anything negative about her attire, Spock said nothing. Instead, he ushered her into his quarters. He was dressed casually in muted colours and for some unknown reason that simple fact created an extra knot of tension in the pit of her stomach.

"I am pleased that you have accepted my invitation."

Holding his gaze, she replied, "How could I refuse, Administrator?"

He raised a brow and asked her to call him, Spock.

Spock served their meal, a combination of Terran and Vulcan dishes. Too anxious to enjoy the food, she hardly ate anything. Uhura was unsure as to whether he had noticed because he seemed more intent in asking a rapid series of questions. He wanted to know about her family history, her childhood, her one summer on Vulcan and her affinity with languages. He even asked about her apparent abandonment of Starfleet. Uhura answered as best as she could, certain that he already knew the answers to most of his questions. She surmised that he was testing her. She was not sure if she wanted to pass or fail and what either would mean.

Dinner ended and much to her relief, he did not suggest that she stay any longer than necessary, nor did he touch her in any manner. That night her dreams were all about him. His gorgeously formed lips had travelled across her overheated skin while his hands stroked sinfully between her spread legs. She woke to find her own fingers in the middle of doing what dream Spock had begun.

Their second dinner, also at his residence, was less one-sided. This time Uhura had felt comfortable enough to satisfy her curiosity about Spock's childhood. One of the many topics they avoided was the death of her family and his parents. The unpleasantness was not something either cared to dwell on. As their meal ended, she found herself riveted by their discussion on how long-range subspace communication could be boosted to avoid some of the lag that currently occurred. This time when he had walked her to the door that led to the lift, Spock touched her arm. He used a slow deliberate caress to slide two burning fingers down to her hand, and then she found her back against the door and his lips against hers. The small rational part of her mind had screamed at the possessive way his fingers dug into her hips, the demanding nature of his kiss and the sudden weakness in her knees.

Hours later as she left him for her home, Uhura reflected that by becoming his lover, she'd gained a way to get information that could help her cause. It disturbed her a great deal that in Spock's arms she had felt more alive than ever before. It also bothered her that just as she had used their relationship to get what she wanted, he too was using her and it wasn't just for the sex.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Uhura felt Spock stir and she rolled onto her side to face him. He was waking ahead of schedule. She wondered if he was developing a resistance to the drug. She had been careful to limit the occasions on which she used it, and at those times, she gave just enough to put him out for two hours. Increasing the dosage would risk discovery of her deception and that was something she could not afford.

Spock turned his head in her direction and opened long-lashed dark eyes. He watched her with an unsettling intensity that reminded her of a scientist studying a lab specimen. Vaguely she remembered that under the robes of government dwelled a man of science. Uhura always felt trapped within those eyes of his, torn between wanting to hide from him and remaining within his gaze. After all this time, she still felt unnerved by him doing this. She considered it a reminder, like his spine, that although he was half-Human, his Vulcan heritage was most dominant.

"Hi," she said.

Spock propped himself in a position mirroring hers. "Why is it that I always seem to lose myself in you, Nyota?"

"I can't answer that for you."

His long graceful fingers reached out and lazily caressed the side of her face before sliding into her locks. "Everything about you fascinates me."

Her heart gave a little flip-flop at his admission. The fingers continued to play with her hair. He seemed to have a fetish for her hair, even commenting that he preferred it curly. For that very reason alone, Uhura always wore it straight. "Is that why I'm here, Spock?"

The fingers tightened in her hair and then pulled her forward until she could feel his warm breath against her skin. "Yes and no."

Uhura frowned at Spock. He was in strange mood tonight. He had been quiet through much of their meal and when that was over, he'd unceremoniously stripped her naked and dumped her onto his bed. She did not understand his caveman attitude, because sad as it was, she was always needy for his touch. "That wasn't a clear answer."

"No, it was not," he agreed and rolled onto his back. His grip, however, remained the same, forcing her to move with him.

"My hair," she said, staring pointedly at his face.

Spock's fingers slackened. "Next time we meet, I want you to wear it curled."

"_My_ _hair_,_ my_ decision on how _I_ wear it."

His eyes narrowed with a hint of annoyance. "Must you negate my every request?"

"Not every request, just the unreasonable ones."

His gaze dropped to her lips with a challenging hunger and seconds later, she found herself on her back with Spock looming above her. His deliciously hard body pressed into hers and Uhura could feel how happy he was to have her beneath him. An answering spark zapped through her body in a heady rush and her nipples perked up in swift attention. She widened her legs to better accommodate him.

"Then let me make a very reasonable request of you," he said and entwined his fingers with her own, placing them on her pillow. "You are to desist from any other sexual liaisons you might have."

Uhura gazed up at Spock's suddenly blank face and wondered if she had heard correctly. "Excuse me?"

"I was clear in my words, Nyota. As long as we share our bodies, you will not see another."

"We never promised exclusivity to each other," she replied, then saw the way his eyes darkened from deep brown to cold black. Was he angry? And why was it making her hotter by the second?

"There has been talk of you having a sexual relationship with the trade captain who lodges at your residence."

So that was it. Spock had heard of her performance for Mayweather's sake. Uhura hooked her legs around his hips, and they both closed their eyes from the feel of his intimate flesh tightly pressed against her. "What if he refuses?" She asked, "For that matter, what if I refuse? What then?"

His right hand disengaged from hers, caressing across her arm, towards her shoulders and then to her neck. Spock's fingers fanned out as he gently stroked the column. A touch of apprehension entered her mind when he did not answer. She wondered if she was pushing him too far. "What if I refuse, Spock?"

Spock's fingers stilled, then tensed around her neck, and Uhura thought of the bracelet on her wrist with its hidden, drugged-tipped needle. However, she found her thoughts scattered as his mouth crashed down on hers in a vicious kiss. She felt his teeth at her lips, followed by a light sting and knew he'd broken flesh. His tongue licked along her bruised lips and her free hand somehow found its' way into his hair. Adrenaline and wanton need flooded her body, compelling her to arch upwards. When his tongue entered her mouth, the taste of him and her own blood elicited a raw groan from deep within her throat.

The harshness of their kiss as their tongues duelled for supremacy called to the dark places of her soul. Spock's heated passion always got underneath her skin, filling her with its special brand of addictiveness. Somewhere between his first touch and first searing possession, Uhura found herself craving the sensations only he inspired in her. But tonight she wanted something else. She wanted to taunt him and push him, for this weakness he created in her. Rubbing her drenched pussy against his erection, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged harshly.

Their kiss broke apart and the ragged sounds of their breathing floated about their still bodies. Uhura could see that Spock's eyes were still black, but where there had been frigidity now was housed a smouldering fire. They bore into her gaze with an inquiring arrogance.

"My question, Spock," she demanded with a voice that sounded much too breathy for her liking.

Those sensual fingers of his that were still at her neck increased their pressure just a fraction before he responded, "You forget who I am, Nyota. I can make his life infinitely unpleasant. The choice is yours."

That nasty threat did not surprise Uhura. She knew what he was capable of doing, given the right motivation. There was a reason why he was both feared and respected. "You don't own me."

Spock's head dipped, but his eyes remained locked on hers as his perfectly curved lips brushed her sore ones. "I may not own your mind," he said, then tenderly kissed her chin and jaw-line. "I may not own your soul," he continued, swiping a wet tongue against the shell of her ear that caused a hitch in her breathing...

..."I may not own your heart." Spock let go of her right hand and trailed his free fingers down the side of her body. His lips brushed against the tip of her nose and then the side of her mouth.

The light touches was both soothing and maddening. Uhura's grip on his hair relaxed and her hand dropped to his sweat-slicked shoulders. She smiled slightly and caressed her way to his back. The fact that he sweated and the tension radiating from his muscles told her he was not as contained as his words and face would have her believe.

"However," he whispered in a wickedly seductive tone that twisted the already tight coil of desire burning her insides, "I. Own. Your. Body." With those last ardent words beating at her ear, he reached between them, positioned his cock at her entrance, and thrust his hips forward.

"Oh God," fell from Uhura's parted lips at the exquisite feel of Spock's thick length filling her, feeding her hunger for him. When she was first-year cadet, a friend had commented that Vulcans were probably dead below the waist. As her eyes drifted shut, she wished she could tell that friend how wrong he had been. Not only was Spock not dead down below, he was impressively endowed. Vaguely she speculated on whether all Vulcan males were this gifted.

He pulled out, slowly, so achingly slow that a flare of frantic want threatened her sanity. Uhura opened heavy-lidded eyes and dug her nails deeply into his skin. "My body does not belong to you," she growled.

A faint scowl flickered across Spock's face followed by an amused determination. He plunged back into her just the way she wanted. "I beg to differ, Nyota." His hand abandoned her neck, moving to her breasts. He manipulated the tight buds until a dull pain joined the pleasure already there. "Just look at the way you move for me. Your body knows the truth and yet you insist on fighting."

"You...are...the..." was all the response Uhura could manage because Spock began a ruthless rhythm in and out of her body. She responded in kind, eagerly lifting her hips and meeting him halfway.

In between fierce kisses and passionate moans, Spock's fingers crept to the side of her face in a manner that she had seen before. Even as she rode the blissful high that was Spock, Uhura had the presence of mind to turn her face, as she mouthed the word "no". His eyes widened, his hand slipped into her hair and his forehead touched hers. The angle of his hips shifted slightly, and Uhura found herself hurtling towards a turbulent peak of ecstasy. When she got there, he followed her and she could hear the echoes of "_t'nash-vey_" across her mind. At that very moment, she was more than happy to be his, and in a small way, that made her hate him.

XXXXXXXXXXX

He did not believe coincidences. Events did not interconnect at random. No, all things happened for a purpose, even the most banal. Purpose, he believed, was the single most driving force of all life within the universe. Sometimes it lay buried within the subconscious; at other times, it hid among the many combinations of each creature's DNA. Even that intangible thing known as destiny fell well within its icy grip. He reasoned that if purpose did not exist then all things were meaningless.

Spock rested his head against his pillow. Nyota's lay half on top of him, her face nestled atop his chest. His sensitive fingers slid along her shoulders until he encountered a jagged scar. The shape of it told him exactly what created the damage. A Vulcan honour dagger used more for ceremonial purposes than actual combat. He often wondered about the fate of the one who inflicted the wound. It was already there the first time his eyes and hands caressed her soft bare skin, most likely inflicted in one of the many battles on Deneva.

The Humans had fought long and hard, in a frantic attempt to maintain control of the planet and surrounding system. Early estimates by Vulcan's senior fleet commanders and the High Command had the UE falling to Vulcan in weeks. In typical Human fashion, they had surprised everyone. They lasted months, drawing out each battle with their cunning and near suicidal acts of sacrifice. For their audacity at repelling Vulcan forces for so long, the High Command and the High Council decided that the Humans on Deneva must survive. Bringing them under their subjugation was a more fitting revenge than complete destruction.

Spock traced the puckered flesh, moving lower along the velvety smoothness of Nyota's back. He found the touch of her cool skin satisfying to his senses. He relaxed his mental shields and felt the barest touch of awareness, seeping from her and into his consciousness. She sighed softly as he grazed another scar at the edge of her hip, but did not wake from her pleasant dream. She rarely slept when they were together. Sometimes she dozed either half on top his body or facing him. She never turned her back to him while they were in bed unless their copulation required her to be in such a position. Given her other life, he did not fault her.

Spock's fingers glided across the high curve of her derrière and he could not suppress the small wry smile that touched his lips when her thighs parted and another soft sigh slipped pass her lips. She may fight his hold over her, but her body always succumbed. He recognised that a part of her was ashamed of her intense desire to connect with him. He had meditated on that realisation and concluded that he could not grudge her for it, not with their circumstances. He also had the benefit of seeing and wanting her before they had ever met.

Purpose, its seemingly random interconnecting events, had led him to make hard and dangerous decisions, and along the way, there had been death and destruction. He did not regret any of his prior actions, nor the knowledge that he would cause more, because he considered them a balance to what he hoped to achieve. The problem for Spock was that even with all the tantalising clues, starting with his vision, he still could not discern the pattern of Nyota Uhura. Yet, he knew instinctively that she was an important key to gaining his ultimate goal. It was the same instinct that made him want desperately to meld with her earlier tonight, and quickened his heart at the mere thought of sinking into the depths of her cool slick flesh.

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Please drop a comment and let me know what you think of this chapter. I always enjoy hearing from my readers.

Next chapter: The current home of United Earth Gov and a not so pleasant encounter with Admiral Richard Barnett


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters are not mine.**

**A/N: **First, I must apologise for the _very_ long gap in posting. This was the result of three things: my interest wandering to other stories, real life and my not being happy with the initial version of this chapter. It took months to have something viable enough to send to my beta, the amazing Spocklovescats, and another month and half to make the needed changes. If you need a refresher in the dynamics of this universe, please read the Author's note in the prologue and chapter 2.

Main characters: Uhura, Kirk, Spock, Mara (OFC), Terrence Mayweather (OMC) plus an assortment of minor characters.

**Much thanks to those of you who enquired as to when I would update. Your comments and PMs offered incentive to get cracking**.

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**Chapter 7**

Icy winds howled around him, slapping at his face with stinging fingers. Mayweather adjusted his scarf and continued along the ice-crusted dirt road on Abiri. His trip from Deneva had been uneventful and he was grateful for it. Sometimes he found himself dodging raiders from the Orion Syndicate, the occasional Klingon or Vulcan patrol ships. It wasn't exactly easy being Human when space was filled with predators, and you were now regarded as prey.

Mayweather's first priority upon touching down at the docking site had been to offload his goods. Now he headed for the complex that housed the offices of Starfleet and United Earth Government. Not much was left of either, especially Earth Gov, which ran without a legislative branch. All decisions came from an executive office comprised of a president, a Starfleet representative and five civilians, remnants of the UE Council still willing to govern.

A number of people bustled by, some Human, others alien. When the first shuttles had landed here, only two structures stood on the moon. The larger was a giant research facility and dormitory. The other had served as a power generating station. Together they had provided a great starting point for Earth Gov. The first thing the government had ordered was the building of temporary shelters reminiscent of refugee camps Mayweather had seen in history holos. These structures had provided protection from the winds and snow, but left the settlers vulnerable to temperatures. A good deal had changed since those days; real buildings now dotted the landscape.

Mayweather arrived at the headquarters of a radically altered Starfleet, entering the well-heated main lobby with a sigh of relief. Formerly, Starfleet had operated as a separate entity that dealt with threats from outside the UE, while internal security fell under the jurisdiction of municipal level agencies. But months into the war, Admiral Richard Barnett had used his considerable influence—and some rumoured blackmail—to push through legislation necessary to consolidate all security and intelligence matters under Starfleet.

Fifteen minutes and two security checks later, Mayweather found himself at the admiral's office. The man some revered as the saviour of Humanity sat behind a cluttered desk of metal and plastic. Even seated Barnett cut an impressive figure, an archaic pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. He was almost sixty yet looked about fifteen years younger. Mayweather often wondered how he did it, especially since the admiral didn't strike him as the kind of person who favoured cosmetic enhancement. The most significant difference between the man before him and the one he'd met as a teenage recruit was what emanated from Barnett's eyes. They used to hold an inviting warmth. Now they were cold with an almost suffocating desperation.

"Good afternoon, Admiral."

"Commander Mayweather, I trust your journey was without incident."

Mayweather winced inwardly. The Admiral was the only one who insisted on using his Starfleet rank. "Yes, sir, it was." He reached into his pocket and retrieved a data crystal. "The latest from Deneva."

Barnett took the crystal, placed it on his desk and leaned back in his chair. "How is my daughter?"

"She was well the last time I saw her."

"And my son-in-law?"

"Jim seemed somewhat improved, sir." Mayweather clasped his hands behind his back and observed the rather pleased look that settled on the older man's face. Uhura's words from the Deneva dockyard rang loud in his mind and he felt his anger build. "It's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Barnett folded his arms then replied, his voice edged with traces of ice, "You presume to question my motives?"

"When it involves those I care about, yes sir, I do."

"Be careful, Commander"

Holding the Admiral's gaze, Mayweather decided that if he were to speak his mind he might as well cover all the bases. "We aren't chess pieces to be played as you see fit, not Jim, not Mara and most certainly not Uhura."

"What about Ms. Uhura?"

"After all that she gave up at your request, why would you ask her to whore herself to the enemy?"

A muscle tic beginning at the side of his face, Barnett replied, "I will not tolerate your lecture of me, Commander."

"She was your lover."

Mayweather watched the interesting interplay of emotions on Barnett's face. His parents had always said he could never leave well enough alone. Feeling the rise in tension within the office, he knew this to be one of those times.

"How did you find out?"

"I caught a glimpse of you two together before you left Deneva."

"She is young and attractive, and when she offered solace during such a difficult time, I did not refuse." Barnett picked up the data crystal and palmed it. "I saw an ideal opportunity for her to use her skills in our behalf and she agreed. Ms. Uhura is more than capable of taking care of herself."

Hearing those words, Mayweather struggled not to think about what Barnett would require of him before the war was over.

"Breathe one word of this and I'll have you court martial."

"On what grounds, sir?"

"There are many options already open to me, Commander." Barnett waved a hand. "You're dismissed. Have a pleasant evening."

Dumbfounded, Mayweather stared at the Admiral for a moment longer, then nodded in resentful respect and stormed out of the office. In his anger, he hardly paid attention to the Paaragan woman who hurriedly stepped out of his path.

***SUSU***

Following his encounter with Barnett and a number of errands, Mayweather felt the need for either alcohol or a woman. He liked having drinks with his friend and fellow Enterprise survivor, Montgomery Scott. It remained a mystery as to how the engineer procured his stash, but he always had the best stuff.

He debated the issue for a few seconds and decided he could see Scotty another day, opting instead for female company. Now he lay in a bedroom surrounded by cigarette smoke.

He took a shallow breath and hoped the tiny apartment did not have an upgraded smoke sensor. Over the last few years, smoking had become a crime punishable by forced rehab or incarceration. It did not matter whether the guilty party was addicted to the stuff or not. Earth Gov was rather serious about protecting the 'genetic integrity' of all citizens of childbearing age, except most of those people refused to have children. Some were circulating the idea of mandating each adult to produce at least one offspring.

His companion seemed content to ignore the law. He watched her taut pale back in the bright light that flooded in from the bathroom. She stood at her narrow slash of a window, blowing smoke in careful puffs. Nostrils irritated, Mayweather wanted to ask Ruthie Bonaventure to put it out or crack open the window. He remained silent. It might be looked upon as bad form, to make such demands of her when she had just given him mindless sex for _free_.

Ruthie was a legal prostitute from Proxima colony. She had left home for Earth at eighteen to train under Madam Calita Sar, an Orion. The Sar School, one of the few alien-owned businesses had prided itself on thoroughly teaching its male and female students in the arts of seduction and ultimate satisfaction.

The one time Terrence asked why she chose her profession, Ruthie had bluntly told him, "It was an enjoyable way to make a comfortable living." So, why did he receive rate free sex from her when they were not romantically involved?

He had saved her life on Deneva. It would have been nice to think he saved her from a Vulcan attack, but it was from a Human thug. The creep had noticed the swirling Orion script tattooed on her right arm and realised she was a Sar graduate. Apparently thinking that her profession meant she had no choice, he attacked. Mayweather had come upon the violent altercation and saved Ruthie's life. A few days later, over drinks and she mentioned a willingness to see him off the clock. It took him almost three years to collect on her offer.

Ruthie crushed the butt of her cigarette in a nearby ashtray and returned to the bed. Slipping partially under the covers, she asked, "When do you ship out?"

"In a week."

"Am I going to see you again before you leave?"

Odd: she never asked such questions. "I don't know."

"I'm leaving the business."

Mayweather rolled to his side and gazed at her. He knew how proud she was of what she did, so he was curious. "What changed?"

"It's the same old story," she said, running a hand down his chest. "I met someone who wants me to quit."

"So you won't be...around the next time I'm here."

"No, I won't."

It struck Mayweather that he actually cared more for her than he thought. "You love him?"

Ruthie smiled up at him. "I never said it was a man."

"Ah." What else could he say?

They remained quiet, as she idly stroked his skin. Her warm touch was so very welcome to him. After a few minutes, a twinkle entered her eyes and she asked, "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Mayweather hesitated. This might be one of those trick questions women used on men. He decided to pretend she hadn't asked it by making an enquiry of his own. "What are you going to do job wise?"

"I'll be working with her. She runs cargo between here and the Andorian System."

That was one of the most dangerous routes. "That system borders Vulcan space."

"And it's oh, so profitable."

True. Andoria and Vulcan had gone to war twice during the last two hundred years. They had achieved a tense peace almost a century ago, which evolved into a cold war with the Vulcan/UE conflict. The mistrust between the two could be downright hostile. As part of their 'sticking it' to the Vulcans, the Andorians were willing to trade with Human ships, offering their merchandise at enormous discounts.

"You're willing to take that risk?"

"Terrence, you and I both know there are always other routes that can be utilised."

He knew those routes intimately. They had risks of their own, which was why any sane person avoided them _and_ Andoria. "What's her name?"

"Eve McHuron." She poked a finger into his navel. "Don't forget my question."

"What question?"

Ruthie rolled her eyes. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Mayweather realised he had no choice. He had to answer. "You're not pretty Ruthie. Pretty are those girls who catch the eye and then are forgotten. Pretty fades." He let his eyes linger on her lush features. "You my friend are what my eldest brother use to call dangerously sexy. Once seen but never forgotten."

"That's what I like about you, Terrence, truth wrapped in silk."

"I aim to please."

"You know I once thought I was in-love with you."

Where had that come from? "When did you change your mind?'

"Soon after. You have much to offer someone and she is definitely not me."

"You think there is hope for me?"

"Have faith and you'll manage just fine."

Deep down in the small dark place where the last bits of his hope remained, he silently prayed she was correct. Because the rest of him was of the opinion, that love was not in his future. He had tried it once only to witness to his fiancée's death. He did not know if he could survive another such ordeal.

Later as he left a sleeping Ruthie and headed out into the dark, Mayweather could not begrudge her what happiness she might find with Eve, the cargo ship captain.

***SUSU***

**Deneva**

His hands shook as he headed home from another midnight meeting. He pushed them deep into his pockets and willed them to stop. Either the Vulcan bitch was diluting the corillan acid or he was developing a tolerance. Knowing their mutual contempt, he was sure she had diluted his last batch. Usually the stuff lasted a month.

This time around, he'd gone through the vials in two weeks. What a coincidence—she had wanted to meet at just about the time he ran out of juice. Luckily, he had some useful intel for her. The name of the man, a Human posing as low level Vulcan technician, who'd hacked the modulating shields around the largest Vulcan storage facility using a base code created by Adam and Uhura.

A few more steps and he reached his building. With a sigh, he entered through the clear-steel doors and took the stairs to his fifth floor apartment. Once inside his sanctuary, he flipped the lights on and came close to losing his composure. Seated on his sofa was Suzan Bell, his sometimes girlfriend. Finding her like this in the dark unnerved him.

"How can you live with yourself?" she accused without preamble, her features twisting in disgust.

He did not pretend ignorance of what she asked. "How ...?"

"You hurried out of here without shutting down your computer. God, how can you stand to be next to the woman who led the assault on your region of Earth?"

"Suz, you don't understand."

She got up from the chair and came to stand next to him. "Oh, I understand that you've sold our people out to those green-blooded sons of bitches."

"What gives you the right to talk to me like that?" he yelled, gripping her arms. "You're not even part of the resistance. You just sit back and leave us to fight for your freedom!"

"Marking you as someone truly despicable," she yelled right back.

Her words burned hot like lava. Guilt and pain dug at his insides and he shoved her away. Watching her stumble in an attempt stay upright, he said, "We're over."

"So what?" she asked and laughed in a highly hysterical manner. "Is that supposed to make me sorry? Do think I want to keep fucking a _traitor_?"

Suzan might not be resistance but she knew at least one other member. She could jeopardise everything. He could not return to being that man who sat in an alley waiting to die. "You can't tell anyone," he begged.

"Do you think I can live with keeping silent? You must not know me."

She was forcing his hand and it was the Vulcans' fault. They had destroyed everything. Now he had to kill her. Although some would quibble over him having Human blood on his hands, this was the first time he was pulling the trigger. Trembling with fury, he watched her collect her handbag and jacket.

He swiftly reached into his side holster, grabbed his phaser and shot Suzan point blank in the chest. In seconds, she lay dead on his floor. Standing over her, he stared into her hazel eyes frozen forever with her surprise. She had underestimated him. He turned the phaser to maximum setting and fired once more at her. He took no pleasure in watching her body turn into black ash.

* * *

**Trivia question**: Do you recognise Ruthie Bonaventure and Eve McHuron? They are two of three female characters featured in a famous TOS episode.


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Star Trek and all associated characters are not mine.**

Thank you spocklovescats for beta assistance. All mistakes are mine.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"God, I've missed your mouth on me."

Kirk, on his knees, smiled against Mara's smooth thigh and bit lightly. She was sitting in her usual spot aboard Delilah's bridge, but with her splayed legs resting atop his shoulders. Her shirt hung open and her bra was pushed upward, spilling her full, heavy breasts forward. Her pants and panties lay on the floor where he had tossed them. With her eyes closed, lips parted and head thrown back she presented a delectable picture.

After his confession to her, Kirk had needed to withdraw from Mara. He did not shut her out. Instead, he had told her he needed to find personal closure for that incident and to do so he required some solitude. Bless her; she did as he asked. This morning when he had woken with his body curved into hers, he knew that he was truly ready to move forward.

If she'd missed having his mouth on her, Kirk had missed having it there. Until today, he had never considered that he could miss the taste of Mara. He knew he longed for her companionship, and the many facets of her personality. He loved how she could run hot and then cold within seconds. Kissing her this morning had opened this new awareness. He wondered if his newly lessened emotional baggage was the cause—he had not felt this way when they kissed on Deneva.

With less than an half hour to their destination, Kirk decided he wanted to satisfy his desire, an impulsive want to say the least. He had run his lips over much of her body with the exception of one place. It was driving her crazy. "Have I ever told you how hot you look when you're this desperate, Mara?"

"No," she gasped out as his fingers stroked her wet neither lips.

"Then let me rectify that mistake right now." He slipped two fingers into the hot slick opening and she shuddered. "Your eyes when open become bands of liquid gold, your skin flushes with the merest hint of colour and your voice turns into a sexy purr."

Mara gripped the arms of her chair and lifted her hips to match the thrusting of his fingers. "Please," she pleaded. "I need your mouth on me."

He placed his lips against her thigh and licked the straight line to the very edge of her pussy.

"Jim," she demanded, taking a fistful of his hair between her fingers.

"I have my mouth on you, Mara. You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Damn you!"

Nibbling on her skin, he added a third finger into her. "The longer you delay, the more you run the risk of arriving at our location before coming. Do you really want to be cranky and frustrated when you see Kali?"

"On... my...clit," she bit out and then moaned as his fourth finger found its way into her body.

Kirk dove headfirst and ran his tongue across the swollen bundle of nerves. He looked up into her face and saw that she was watching him. He smirked and lifted a bit. "Was that so hard?"

"Asshole."

"_Your_ asshole." This time when his mouth fastened on to her, Kirk made sure to nibble, lick and suck at every sensitive spot. As he luxuriated in the taste and scent of her, he promised himself never to let work or life come between them. She came, screaming his name with seven minutes left on the clock.

***SUSU***

Dressed and presentable, Mara was the epitome of professional calm. On the inside, she felt happy and relaxed, a far cry from the tense woman who'd woken up this morning...thanks to Jim and his talented mouth. She had just taken the ship out of warp. On the viewscreen, they could see the binary stars and nothing else. She had never seen anything like it before. Beautiful and deadly, tendrils of energy passed between them, each feeding the other in a dance towards nova.

"I don't think they're here, Jim."

"Just keep heading along the path I plotted, we'll see them eventually."

Mara sighed. Just as she predicted, the gravitational eddies were havoc on Delilah. She had switched to manual piloting, as it was easier for her to avoid the worst of them. They had to shut down non-essential systems and routed all spare power to shields. An even bigger worry for her, were the electromagnetic discharges. They could scramble all systems, leaving them dead and drifting. If she weren't so desperate, she would have recommended turning back.

"There." Jim highlighted a small section of the screen and enlarged it. Two ships, roughly a third of the size of what Enterprise had been, hung in space, their overall shape and sharp edges reminiscent of predatory birds. "Now that we know they're in the area, I'm going to send out my code."

After ten minutes of silence, Mara asked, "What if there's been a regime change?"

Jim looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Don't even think about it!"

"Sorry." He might want to pretend a change could not have occurred, but Mara had met Kali and that was enough to put the thought into her mind.

It was not until their shield integrity dropped by thirty percent that a static-filled answer came. "Follow us," it said.

"Acknowledged," Jim replied.

Mara immediately moved to follow, slightly increasing speed. "This doesn't make sense, where are the other ships?"

"Cloaked."

Startled, she turned to Jim. "When did they implement cloaking tech?"

"A year ago–Kali thought it was prudent."

She thought back to the months when he'd disappeared. "You were with them, weren't you? That's why we couldn't find you?"

He caught her gaze and gave a half-smile. "Can you blame me?"

One of the two ships came to a stop and then the largest ship Mara had ever seen shimmered in to view. The Wai-Shali called it Enkiro, home. Spherical in shape, it even resembled a small planetoid. It was a true work of genius.

After docking and exiting Delilah, two guards, one Tellarite, the other a species unknown to her, walked towards them with carefully measured steps. As she looked into their almost empty eyes, a shiver climbed up her spine. These were killers, plain and simple. Pay them the right amount and they would take out any target. Mara's only comfort—besides Jim of course—were the weapons she carried.

"Welcome to Enkiro, James Kirk and consort," greeted the Tellarite.

Mara fought hard not to roll her eyes. One unfortunate visit and she was relegated to being an extension of Jim.

"Your hospitality is graciously accepted," Jim replied.

"She is waiting for you."

"Thank you."

They walked through the gigantic metallic room, then entered a lift, which took them downward. As they travelled a security beam scanned their bodies. That too was a change from her last visit with the Wai-Shali.

Once the lift opened, they were greeted with a marvel in artificial engineering. This was not simply a massive ship; no, what stood before her was a city meant to mimic a planet-side setting. Buildings, large, small, plain and jewel-toned, were scattered along streets with hover cars and pedestrians. Fountains and trees added a touch of nature, while holographic technology provided the illusion of a sun and clouds. Sometimes when they were close to stable stars, the 'sunlight' was quite real. She had even seen and felt wisps of real rain and had been amazed. As with any city, there were places of commerce, medicine and government. And at the very edge of the city was a trail that lead to a small forest complete with genuine animals.

Built by the Malele race, Enkiro was a last-ditch effort to save their way of life. They knew their planet was dying and had spent over a century building this world-ship. In the hundreds of years that they had roamed the galaxy, their numbers declined and their core values changed. Instead of simply exploring new environments, they would provide exclusive services for a price. Eventually, they could no longer ignore the decline in birth-rate and that was when their then-leader decided to introduce new races into their society. Soon after, they became the Wai-Shali Circle.

Following Jim and attempting not to gawk at the many aliens, half of them unfamiliar, Mara smiled as she thought fleetingly of Nyota Uhura. With her thirst for languages and cultures, she would certainly like it here.

"How do they get so many races to work and live with each other?" she asked. A question she had been too awestruck and in-love to ask the last time she visited.

"Either get them very young and indoctrinate them or break them down to the point that they'll accept you. Though in many instances the people who come here are at the end of their hope, life even, then they end up here and it seems like paradise."

She glanced at her husband, registering the note of bitterness in his voice. She inhaled deeply and hoped he would be okay at the end of her bargaining with Kali.

Eventually, they entered a single-storied building that seemed carved from a gleaming, navy-blue limestone-like material. For such an ordinary building, it was the most important. This was where the Wai-Shali assembly met to create policy or judge a person's guilt. And hidden away from causal observation was an arena where barbaric fights of ascension took place. In some instances, the fights required minimum bloodshed, but for positions of power, only the _tal'rok,_ killing dance, would do. Kali was not the only reason this place gave Mara pause.

At the end of a long hallway, guards stood on either side of an ornate bronze door, carved with Malele mythology. They looked at Mara and Jim but said nothing. Jim took her hand in his and squeezed gently. "Remember what I said about provoking Kali."

"Keep my cool, never give her an easy upper hand."

"And," he prompted.

"Don't threaten, hit, cut or shoot at her." Mara looked up at him with mild annoyance. "I'm not an idiot, you know."

He took a deep breath and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"There are always choices."

"Not this time."

Together they pushed opened the door, entering into an office filled with streaming light and pale walls. Bold rugs decorated the floor; the walls were dotted with images of nature in violent revolt. Elegantly designed furniture, arranged in a tasteful manner, complimented every aspect of the room.

In the centre of this simple sophistication stood Kali, unlike her surroundings, there was nothing simple about her. As Mara stared into a pair of blazing familiar blue eyes, she could not help but marvel at how one person could give off such an odd combination of self. Kali was beauty, femininity, menace and darkness. The stylish black bodysuit she wore emphasised every lithe muscle on her graceful physique. Blonde hair framed her face and hung along her back. She looked at peace with all that she was and that had to be the scariest thing about her. She lorded over thieves, assassins, and smugglers, but above all else, she was Mara's mother-in-law—because once upon a time Kali used to be Winona Kirk.

"Welcome my son." A tiny frown marred her tech-assisted young-looking face. "I see you haven't learnt your lesson and have resumed your relationship with this woman."

Mara ground her teeth and counted to ten. The last of those happy feelings Jim had invoked within her fled.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will deal with Spock, Uhura, and the politics of Deneva.


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Star Trek and all associated characters are not mine.

**Beta: **Spocklovescats

* * *

**Chapter 9**

"I can't meet with you tonight," Uhura stated firmly, her eyes and fingers focussed on wrapping the gift she had bought the previous day.

From the screen mounted on her bedroom wall, Spock asked, "Why not after the party?"

For a Vulcan, Spock could exhibit a number of needy traits. "I mentioned to you that I might be skipping tonight's appointment." She laughed inwardly, appointment indeed.

"_Might_ being the operative word," he replied, his voice smooth and cultured. She loved feeling it echo across her skin with promises of what he intended to do.

Uhura wondered if this was going to be a problem. Spock could be hard and exacting when he wanted something and he always wanted her. "A word that also inferred my potential absence from your side tonight," she said, in an appeal to his logic.

He was silent for a bit, then, "I am open to a compromise."

She placed a thumb atop the half-wrapped box and looked at the screen. She couldn't be sure but he looked close to scowling. "I've already suggested this weekend."

"I would prefer tonight, Nyota; however, tomorrow night would be an acceptable alternative."

"I'm available, so it's a date then?" She smiled when she saw his frown smoothed out.

"Agreed, and Nyota?"

"Yes?"

"Please wear red when you visit."

Before she could respond to his surprising request, Spock reached forward and terminated the transmission. That was a new kink to their pseudo-relationship. She was not aware that he preferred her in certain colours. A mischievous smile touched her lips. He had been sloppy. Not specifying what article of clothing should be red left many potential choices. Uhura returned to her gift-wrapping as she decided exactly what was going to be red tomorrow night.

_**-Later that evening**_

"Surprise!" they all shouted in unison.

A number of resistance members had gathered to celebrate Lu's seventeenth birthday. It was official; the girl was now legal.

Standing beside Elliot, who had been tasked with keeping her away so that they could setup, Lu clutched her bag and let out a shriek of, "Oh my god. Wow. This is so awesome."

Maroon and peach, Lu's favourite colours, was the theme of the night. A holographic birthday sign hung suspended at the centre of the room. Uhura had to admit, they really had outdone themselves for tonight. With only a week's notice, most of the gang had pitched in either credits or labour to ensure the night turned out well for their youngest member. All Uhura had to do was organise the groups and bake the cake. The hardest part of that exercise was getting the icing to come out peach. Food colouring was not a top commodity at the grocer these days.

Leonard McCoy, the man behind the drugs Uhura occasionally slipped Spock, stepped forward and hugged Lu. "Happy birthday, darlin'," he said. "How does it feel to be legal?"

She wrinkled her nose, looked at the expectant group and replied, "No different from yesterday."

They all laughed and next it was John Stiles, coming forward to offer his well wishes. Charlene Marsters, the engineer responsible for repairing their ground and hover vehicles, presented Lu with a rose necklace made of beaten metal. The others stepped forward and then someone turned on the music and the party officially began.

An hour into the festivities, Uhura went into the back with McCoy, returning with the cake and a bottle of local vintage champagne. Presented with her cake, Lu was urged by the group to make a wish. She closed her eyes, seemed to think about it then blew out the seventeen candles.

"What did you wish for, Lu?" asked the ever-cheerful Marlon Phillips. He was their second youngest member and sometimes completed assignments with Stiles.

"None of your business," Lu retorted while slicing into her cake.

When McCoy and Uhura began to pour the champagne, Lu positively radiated. She leaned over to Uhura and whispered, "You're the best."

As the party began to wind down, McCoy sat down next to Uhura. Judging by his overly bright eyes, she knew he'd had a bit much to drink.

"Can't say the girl has good taste in music."

"It's not too bad, once you get into it," she replied, glancing briefly across the room. Marlon was leading Lu in an intricate dance. Masters was having less luck with Elliot.

"You did good, setting up this shindig. She'll always remember it."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Uhura watched him swirl the contents of his class, then swallow it all. It occurred to her that he had lost his daughter and that tonight was probably difficult. He never really talked about it but they all knew he still mourned.

Hours later as she reached to switch off the lights, Uhura congratulated herself. She had given Lu a celebration the girl deserved. She had also boosted crew morale, giving them a renewed sense of hope. In addition, she had taken another step toward catching her spy.

Within the champagne they had used to toast Lu were hundreds of nanites. Originally developed to help heal catastrophic internal injury, she'd had them reprogrammed with instructions to attach within the body and send out a specific low frequency. She now had the means of tracking her crew for the next few months.

"Surprise," she whispered as the lights flicked off.

***SU***

_**Meanwhile...**_

Spock sat on the brown sofa within his office, one hand holding a small slender PADD with information pertinent to his current meeting. He eyed his companions and marvelled once more at the universe and its purpose driven randomness. When he had decided to study science, he could not have fathomed that one day he would be working with his half-brother, Sybok, or his own former fiancée, T'Pring. The universe, it seemed, was not without a dark sense of humour.

Sub-Commander T'Pring sat, back straight, in a posture that would make any Vulcan mother proud. Her beautiful features were coolly placid, her long hair pulled into a ruthless knot emphasising her delicate ears. Her uniform, perfectly tailored, displayed the clean lines of her body.

Sybok, on the other hand had released the top hooks of his uniform jacket. His overly long hair was clasped in a loose leather tie. It was not an acceptable style for any Vulcan male. But Sybok was known for disregarding tradition. Unlike T'Pring, he wore a deceptively relaxed demeanour. The way his hands rested on the arms of his chair, his meeting notes tucked into the space beside him, the Fleet Commander looked as if he were lounging on a Risan beach.

"According to your report, Sub-Commander, you have caught the imposter responsible for disabling the security fields around our storage complex."

"Unfortunately, Administrator, he died without giving any valuable information on his handlers. We do know he was Starfleet Intelligence."

Spock placed the PADD on the sofa and watched T'Pring follow his every move. She had an odd tendency to do that while they were in meetings. "Your report did not specify how he died."

"I killed him."

Sybok looked close to releasing one of his infamous smirks. Spock, however, simply asked, "Any particular reason?"

"His mind was of no use to us after he broke. We now know that he was placed among us when we were still fighting for control of this planet. His contact within the local resistance always kept to the shadows. All that is certain is that this individual is female."

"Perhaps next time you should not be so hasty with your execution. We could have used him for our purposes."

She nodded and the edges of her mouth tightened with her displeasure. Spock could understand her sentiments. Here she was, having to take orders from her former betrothed, a man whose mother belonged to the race that had killed her intended, Stonn. It did not matter to her that Spock's parents had died in the same attack.

PADD once more in hand, Spock began to scroll through some of his own statistics based on reports filed by T'Pring and Sybok. "Have you noticed the seven point nine percent upswing in Humans trained to evade mental extraction?"

"It is not so much that they can evade us," Sybok stated, "Rather some of them seem to have developed ways to prolong the experience. I suppose, they believe we will grow tired and leave them alone."

T'Pring added, "I find it distasteful to enter another's mind unless it is necessary. Perhaps we need an evaluation of our psychological techniques."

"Administrator, Sub-Commander, I may have an answer to our dilemma in the coming months."

Curious Spock asked, "Please elaborate."

"I have a scientist on board my ship who has been working on a device to sift through memories."

Spock was ambivalent about such a device, although he silently conceded that it would make interrogation of difficult subjects much less...messy. "An ingenious idea, if he succeeds, we will all be in his debt."

"I must admit, I was the one who came upon the idea."

T'Pring, voice threaded with open sarcasm, spoke. "Do enlighten us, sir."

Spock watched with mild amusement as Sybok ignored her tone. If she had issues with Spock, she outright abhorred Sybok's lack of proper control. Emotions were a thing to be studied and mastered, not manipulated and played with.

"After reviewing the ancient writings of Venek, I meditated on one of his postulations. He thought the memories and emotions of psychologically damaged patients could be brought forth and made visible by a Healer. Venek believed, forcing the patient into a visual and emotional confrontation with the traumatic memory would facilitate healing."

Knowing his brother's insatiable curiosity and need to experiment, Spock was certain he knew where this story was going. "I am assuming you have mastered Venek's technique."

"Of course."

Naturally—otherwise this discussion would have never started.

"I first tested it on one of the Humans aboard my ship and then on one of my science officers. They have since become the most pleasantly adjusted individuals."

Spock and T'Pring shared a look of perfect agreement. What Sybok had done was dangerous. Possibly this was why this particular treatment method was never put into general use.

"While we await your apparatus, sir," T'Pring said, "I shall look into changing some of our methods for dealing with the Humans."

"Research their history, Sub-Commander, you might find something inspirational," Spock suggested.

After the meeting ended and T'Pring had fled their presence in the most dignified manner, Sybok made an observation. "Working with the sub-commander these many weeks has led me to conclude that she was definitely not the right match for you."

Spock gazed at his brother for eleven seconds without so much as blinking. They had only discussed her three times prior. The day before he bonded with her, the night after, and the day he and T'Pring dissolved their betrothal bond. It was an uncomfortable topic for him.

"During our limited interactions before our separation, I found her to be mostly pleasant. The conflict seems to have warped her."

"And has it not changed the rest of us?"

"Some more so than others, I believe."

"A consequence they neglect to emphasize when training new military personnel."

"Nor do they mention it to young diplomatic aspirants," Spock said, immediately following with, "How are you adjusting to Deneva?"

"In all honesty, I thought I would be prepared for it, having experienced Humans both at home and on Earth. But Spock, the utter desperation that chokes so many of these people can feel claustrophobic."

Powerful empathic telepathy had its drawbacks, and Sybok was one of the strongest. "You are too much of a sensualist, brother; if you are to survive you will have to tighten your mental shielding."

"As are you, Spock, perhaps to a lesser degree, but you cannot deny it."

Spock nodded. He was positive they inherited this particular characteristic from their father. "The least you can do is practice a modicum of restraint. Delaying an important meeting with the Klingons because you were bedding two females does not look well on your record."

"The High Command has a tendency to be highly strung. The Klingons eventually moved past that little incident." Sybok smiled and an unapologetic gleam entered his black eyes. "And what of you? You have not been living the life of an ascetic."

"No, I have not."

Sybok rose from his chair went to the conference table across the room. He poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. "Oh come now, Spock, are we going pretend she does not exist?"

"To whom do you refer?"

"The very interesting Nyota Uhura. Did you know she is fluent in over twenty-five non-terran languages and that she spent two and a half months on Vulcan during her Starfleet Academy years?"

Hearing those casual words leave his brother's lips gave Spock pause. He was well aware that Sybok knew of his involvement with Nyota. He would have done his research long before arriving here in the Mentara System. And if there was one thing Spock was certain of, it was that Sybok had his spies. It was only fair because Spock had a few of his own. What disturbed him was that his brother saw it as necessary to mention some of what he knew about her.

"She is a fascinating woman."

"Is that all she is to you? Is it my imagination, or does she bear a resemblance to the woman you often sketched after your Tal'oth experience."

Spock found that his fingers were beginning to create impressions on his PADD. Sybok was sixteen year older than he was and as a child, Spock had idolised him. As he grew older, their relationship had become a bit more complicated. What had made his brother exciting had slowly revealed itself to be dangerous and had almost gotten Sybok shunned from all things Vulcan.

Spock had also learnt a number of details surrounding Sybok's mother's death and the role his brother had been forced to play. Apparently, he was never the same, no matter how much the healers did for him. He could be malicious and completely sociopathic. He was one of the few Vulcans who had taken to using Human males and females as sexual pets.

"She is off limits to you." The force of his words made Sybok give him a serious once over.

"Have you developed feelings for her?"

Yes! He had foolishly developed feelings for Nyota Uhura. She was only supposed to be a means to an end:

One, find out how she was connected to his vision. Two, discover why a revered Vulcan elder had an interest in her. Three, completely release eighteen years of pent-up lust for a figment of his imagination.

He had just received the answer to number two. He was astounded by what it meant to him and both his people. Number one was still a mystery and number three seemed impossible.

"She is mine Sybok and I will not share her. Can you honour that as a fellow Vulcan and my kin?"

They stared at each other for a few tensed seconds, until Sybok replied, "I will not dishonour your request."

"Thank you."

"Am I off limits from anyone else?" The smile was back.

"Supreme arrogance will be your downfall one day, brother."

* * *

A/N: Good? Bad? Your comments are appreciated.


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